Snapshots
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: Can friendship survive the ultimate test? Time. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Author: A. X. Zanier

Title: Snapshots

Rating: PG-13 (Language, violence, adult situations, mild sexual situations)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to "The Invisible Man." Any additional characters or ideas are mine.

Timeline: And now for something completely different yet eerily familiar.

Comments: I blame this on the lack of brainpower it requires to bike for an hour. This is definitely part of my A.S. altiverse, but changes everything. What if instead of parting ways after they met back when D was 10 and Alyx 13, they had remained friends and stayed in touch with one another? Read on and find out.

Music: _You Owe Me Nothing in Return _by Alanis Morissette and _Here I Stand and Face the Rain _by a-Ha

Snapshots

_"A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future and accepts you today just the way you are." _Proverbs 17:17

August 1981

"Darien, phone call for you."

Darien groaned, not wanting to interrupt his game of Pac-man on the Atari system. "Who is it?" he shouted back, hoping it was just Pizza or Rich so he could blow them off for now. He was at the end of this month's journey into grounding and didn't want to screw it up. Summer was damn boring when stuck in the house or forced to accompany Aunt Celia about town. The only thing worse was having to help Kev and Uncle Pete with whatever crap they were doing in the basement lab.

"It's Shelly," Celia called back.

Darien dropped the game controller and his stocking clad feet were thudding down the main staircase in record time. He ignored the stern look Celia gave him for running in the house and waited impatiently for her to leave the room after she'd handed him the handset.

"Truth!" he whooped into the phone.

"Dare!" was the gleeful response. "I was afraid you'd be out raising cane. Did you get grounded again?"

Darien squirmed and shuffled his feet. "Kinda," he admitted a bit reluctantly. She was the one person he had trouble lying to.

She snorted. "That's my Dare, bad to the bone."

Darien grinned, while she might not necessarily approve of his _hobbies_ she also didn't get on his case about it, just accepted it as part of who he was. "So what's up?"

"Remember how I promised to make it out there this summer?"

"Yeah,"

"How about two weeks from now?"

"Really?" Darien tried to cover his sudden surge of happiness; she was just a girl after all. One he'd had on his mind an awful lot lately.

"Yep, and come fall I'll be a lot closer as well."

"You picked Cal-Tech?" He'd been hoping she would, but with offers from a dozen top notch schools all over the world he'd held out very little hope she'd choose to move across the country, not when MIT had made an offer as well. By choosing Cal-Tech she'd be a comparatively short eight-hour drive away instead of on the east coast. "How long can you stay?"

"A week. We leave tomorrow for Pasadena. Gotta get me squared away on campus, special rooming and other crap 'cause I'm so young." She sighed and shifted the phone from the sound of it. "Then we'll drive up to Cold Springs. Kinda weird though. This'll be the first time I've been to the house. We always used to meet up at the cabin," she reminded him and he was midly surprised to realize it was true. "Mom'll be calling Celia tomorrow with the details. It'll be me and Jacob, by the way."

"I'll let her know. Still hard to believe you going to college and all, and with the esteemed Kevin Fawkes no less." Darien found it very easy to forget she was so smart, smart as Kev at least, because, unlike his brother, she didn't act like it. Not really.

"It's just more school. You'll get there yourself one day. Don't sweat it." Her simple and direct confidence in him stunned him and he fell back onto sarcasm to cover it.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm ever gonna make it out of high school." The silence that echoed across the line told him he'd screwed up, but she surprised him.

"They doing it again?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he agreed, keeping his voice down. "The whole '_why can't you be more like Kevin'_ spiel. I'm sick of it 'Chele." 

"I know you are, Dare. Maybe if you cut down your extracurricular activities to a couple times a month, they'd get off your back for a while," she suggested with humor obvious in her tone.

"Practice makes perfect, right?" When she laughed, he joined in; glad there was one person in his life who trusted him to just be him. "Damn, it'll be good to see you."

"And my ego-stroking has been successful," she commented, making Darien smile. "I gotta run. We've got a ton of crap to do before we leave. Don't forget to tell Celia."

"I won't." Darien rolled his eyes. "See you in two weeks."

"You know it, Dare." There was a soft click as she hung up and Darien set the handset back into its cradle. He stood there, allowing himself a few moments of pleasure before having to face the reality that was his life. 

Straightening his shoulders, he stuck his head out of the room and shouted, "Aunt Celia!"

***

At the sound of a car door slamming Darien rushed to the living room window and scanned the area outside. He'd been jumping at every thing for the last couple of hours now, and Celia had already banished him from the kitchen for not being able to sit still and ruining two apples he'd been supposed to be peeling. On the street before the house was a nondescript dark blue rental car. A man Darien recognized as 'Chele's oldest brother was standing in front of the car and gazing up at the house. The passenger door opened and Darien smiled at the shock of red hair visible around the dark green kerchief holding it out of the owner's face.

With a shout of, "They're here!" he ran to the front door, swung it wide and rushed out onto the porch only to stop dead at the top of the steps instead of bounding down them as he had planned. While he and 'Chele talked almost weekly, he hadn't _seen_ her in six months and in that time she'd changed quite a bit. Somewhere along the way she'd gone from a friend who had the bad taste to be a female to being a _girl._

Wearing a t-shirt, snug fitting jeans and a pair of Nike with the mandatory blue swoosh on the side she looked little like what he remembered. She'd not only filled out over the summer, but she was gloriously tan, making it plain that, unlike his brother who had rarely ventured out of the basement lab, she'd spent the vast majority of her time outside in the sun. Suddenly she was no longer the bouncy tomboy he knew, had morphed into something far more elusive and mysterious, and for an instant he wondered if, because of that, he'd lost her.

"Darien?" she asked, breaking him out of his quiet contemplation of her. He nodded in response. She ran to him, taking the steps two at a time and stopped one step below the porch proper to gaze up at him. "Jeeze, when did you get so tall?"

Darien ducked his head and stepped back so that she could stand beside him, which is when he realized her words had not been facetious. He now stood a good eight inches taller than her, not that he'd ever been shorter, even when they'd first met he'd topped her by a couple of inches, but this past summer he'd hit one of those inevitable growth spurts and shot up three or four inches in a matter of a couple of months. Lucky for his aunt he'd spent most of that time in shorts, as she would have been unable to keep up with him had he been in pants, easily outgrowing them in weeks.

"Shoot, when did you shrink?"

She smiled and punched him on the arm. "Good to see you too."

Celia stepped out onto the porch followed by Kevin; they stayed back as if waiting for the initial reunion rituals to be completed. Jacob mounted the stairs to stand next to 'Chele, still topping her miniscule height by several inches even though he remained a step lower. Darien pulled himself together to make the introductions, though he had met Jacob before, neither Kevin nor Celia had, and Celia had spent enough time drilling etiquette into him that he knew he'd better do this right or face the consequences of yet more reminders.

"Jacob MacTierney, this is my Aunt Celia Donovan and my brother Kevin Fawkes." Darien moved out of the way so Jacob could reach over to shake hands with each of them, then Kev moved to hover at Darien's side. Kevin shoved his glasses back into place and stuck his hand out to Michele. 

"I'm Kevin."

"Really?" 'Chele asked as she shook his hand. "I never would have guessed," she said this with the perfect combination of sweetness and sarcasm, causing Darien to snicker and bite the inside of his cheek as Kev's brows drew together in consternation, making it obvious that he had missed the boat on her subtle jibe, but that didn't prevent him from forging ahead with his, most likely, pre-planned speech.

"I understand you'll be attending Cal-Tech come fall?" At her nod he continued, "May I inquire as to what your planned major is?"

"Neurophysics, biochemistry, and genetics will be my main fields. Have a bunch of ancillary ones as well. Plus I plan on minors in computer science and writing."

"Writing? What on earth for?" Kevin asked in surprise.

"Can't write a book if you don't know how," 'Chele answered in such a way that implied it should have been obvious, especially to someone as smart as Kevin was purported to be. "I hope to continue my parents' work when I graduate."

Kevin's mouth snapped shut.

"Kevin, Darien, go get their bags and take them upstairs. Jacob will be in the spare room, 'Chele you can stay in Darien's room; he'll bunk with Kevin." Celia informed all of them. 

"Mrs. Donovan..." Jacob began.

"Celia, please."

"Celia, we have a room booked at the local hotel," Jacob explained politely.

"Nonsense. You've welcomed Darien into your home many times, the least we can do is the same." With one hand motion she urged Darien and Kevin towards the car and Jacob and Michele into the house. Jacob handed Darien the keys to the car and set a hand on 'Chele's back as they entered the house.

Kevin started in on Darien before they were halfway down the front steps.

"Damn, Darien, no wonder you like visiting her. She's cute."

"I guess. She's just a friend, Kev." Darien tried to keep his tone bland, but based on the look Kevin shot him he hadn't been very successful.

"Can't see what you two have in common," Kevin continued, trying to play on Darien's current lack of self-confidence. "I mean, she's my age, heading to the same school I am this fall. You can't really be hoping to keep her interest, can you?"

It wasn't until Darien saw the trunk of the car open before him that he realized he'd frozen on the sidewalk and that Kevin had taken the keys. Getting himself into motion, Darien lifted the purple trimmed backpack and duffel from the trunk knowing they were hers. "See, Kev, that's the difference between you and me. Keeping her was never part of it. She's free to go whenever she wants." He waited until Kevin had removed the remaining suitcases and then slammed the trunk shut, relocked it and pocketed the keys. He was back on the porch before Kevin began to move.

***

Dinner was earlier than usual and being treated as a special occasion with everyone around the table at the same time. Darien could count the number of times that had happened this past summer on one hand. Darien had been bored about five minutes after the mashed potatoes had been passed around, unlike his aunt he couldn't just smile and nod and pretend to be part of a conversation that was so far over his head that gills would do him little good. Uncle Peter had asked 'Chele a seemingly innocent question about her parents and from there the topic had delved into sciences that got more obscure the more they spoke. So Darien just sighed and poked listlessly at his meal until it was obvious everyone was finished and then, uncharacteristically volunteered to help Celia clean up.

The entire time he was drying and putting the plates away Darien couldn't help thinking that Kevin was probably right, that 'Chele did fit in better with Kev and his crowd of brainiacs. She easily kept up with Uncle Peter, who seemed, at times, to know everything, and she even made Kevin back down when she was able to refute a theory he'd been basing one of his recent experiments on. 'Chele apparently had access to some more recent data that changed the premises Kev had been counting on. When the conversation drifted into the living room Darien trailed along, noting grimly that Uncle Peter had excused himself, leaving just 'Chele and Kevin. Darien just slouched in the doorway undecided as to whether or not he should interrupt them when 'Chele stopped mid-ten-syllable-word and turned to him.

"Go find a deck of cards. I plan on taking you for every cent you got." She winked at him and then finished what she was saying to Kevin.

Darien grinned at the glare Kevin shot his way and rushed off to find a deck of cards.

***

Darien lay on the lumpy cot; his hands threaded together behind his head as he stared up at the star field Kev had painted on his ceiling. As per Kevin's usual meticulousness the scene was accurate, the stars of the northern hemisphere, done to scale the constellations easy to pick out even for Darien. Once he'd gone through all the ones he knew, he began making up his own, recombining the stars in his mind and creating new names for the shapes revealed. Even this didn't keep his mind from bouncing around from topic to topic, the swirling confusion preventing him from sleeping.

In some ways 'Chele was his best friend in the world, the one person he could tell anything and everything, but now... Now, for apparently the first time, he'd noticed _her_. The way she smiled, laughed, moved, it stirred something inside of him he couldn't yet put a name to. Something that scared the hell out of him and that he liked all at the same time.

On the bed Kevin rolled over and began to snore loudly, tempting Darien to shove a pillow over his brother's face to silence him for a few minutes. Instead, Darien tossed off the covers and got up, deciding that maybe a midnight snack would help him settle down enough to sleep. These days it seemed like he was always hungry.

Opening the door he stepped out into the hall and ran smack into 'Chele, knocking her to the floor with a grunt.

"Crap," Darien muttered as he crouched down next to her. "What're you doing up?" he asked as he offered a hand to help her up.

"Too weird trying to sleep in your bed," she told him. As she stood upright one hand went back to rub the spot on her tailbone that had taken the brunt of the impact and winced. "Ahhh, I think you broke my butt." 

Turning her about, Darien checked over the gluteus maximums in question and found nothing wrong other than her pajama shorts being slightly askew. "Looks fine from here," he said, then blushed a deep red as he realized exactly what he had done."

'Chele began to giggle, her hand coming up to cover her mouth to control the volume somewhat. Darien, relieved she hadn't taken offense by what he had done, smiled and ducked his head. When she reached up to brush the hair off his forehead and out of his eyes, his smile faded to something far more serious. To cover it he grabbed her hand and led her to the stairs. "Come on, before Celia wakes up."

"Sure. Midnight raid on the kitchen?" she suggested, echoing Darien's own intent.

"That too." He didn't release her hand until they reached the top of the stairs where he only let her go in order to slide down the banister. He hopped off just before connecting with the large knob at the end, just like he had done a hundred times before. He spun about to see her tripping lightly down the stairs. She leaned against the very knob he had avoided damaging himself on and looked Darien right in the eyes. 

"Lemme guess, Celia don't allow banister slidin'?"

"Hell no," he agreed with a devilish grin.

They ended up in the backyard with their stolen booty from the kitchen. Cookies, soda, and some hoarded candy that Darien had known the exact location of Kevin's hiding place. With the addition of a couple of blankets and their midnight picnic was complete.

Lying on their backs they spent some time pointing out the various constellations to each other and then, once all those visible in the arc of the sky above had been discussed, he gathered his courage about him like a shroud and showed her some of those he had created. After a few she pointed out some she spontaneously came up with, each taking turns creating the names and mythology that went with them.

In the midst of their laughter about the invented history of Gallimimus the Gallant Darien suddenly asked, "Why do you hang out with me?"

'Chele rolled onto her side and propped her head up to look at him in the dim light of the yard. "Dare?"

"No, truth," he responded, tensing in anticipation of her answer.

"Well, at first it was my parents' suggestion. You know, to thank you for hanging out with me at the hospital." She kept her voice quiet, one finger tracing the ripples on the blanket. "After that it was 'cause I wanted to. Though I kinda got the impression your uncle would have encouraged it to continue."

Darien groaned. "Probably thought you'd be a good influence on me or something." His look turned dark as he realized this.

She snickered. "Yeah, right. More likely to happen the other way 'round."

His hands moved behind his head, mimicking the position he'd been in up in the bedroom, and stared at the sky above him without really seeing it. "Not with Kev around," he muttered and then yelped when she smacked him with the flat of her hand on the stomach. "What was that for?" he snarled.

"For being an idiot." At his look of disbelief she continued, "Kev's a geek who is so monofocused on his _work_ that he's forgotten everything else."

"One track mind," Darien mumbled softly, mostly to himself.

"And not easily derailed," she added ruefully. "That boy must eat, sleep and drink... that bio-engineering crap."

Darien rolled on his side to look at her; he tried, in vain, to hide the laughter that wanted to bubble up.

"If I ever begin to turn into that," She waved in the direction of Kev's bedroom window, "hold me down and feed me Oreos 'til I return to reality, would you?"

"Gladly." Darien nodded, his laughter contained at the seriousness in her tone. "So what you're sayin' is... you like me 'cause I'm real?"

She was silent for a long moment. "I like you 'cause you're you, Darien. And before you argue you're too young or some other bullshit..."

He interrupted her right there. "I'm 13, I don't even start high school for another year and here you are 16 and heading to college. Six months from now we'll have nothing in common."

'Chele sighed heavily. "Darien, we have plenty in common and, though you hate to admit it, you are just as smart as Kevin and could probably start high school this year without a problem. I'm not saying you should 'act more like Kevin,' but..." She paused to take a sip of her _Coca-Cola_ as she gathered her thoughts. "You're getting A's and B's on minimal effort right?"

Darien squirmed internally at her question. "Yeah, what of it?"

She shook her head and then seemed to change the topic completely. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he answered automatically and she grinned in such a way that it made Darien's stomach tighten up into a hard ball that suddenly caused all the sugary snacks to sit less than comfortably.

"Pick one class and for one semester give it your all. Do all the work, study, everything," she said, the challenge plain in her tone.

"Oooooh, that's sneaky. So when did Uncle Pete talk you into this?" he snapped, not wanting to be manipulated by her of all people.

She rolled away and sat up. "He didn't, Darien." Getting to her feet she glanced back at him. "And I'm 15, my birthday is in October, remember?"

As she began to walk away Darien whispered, "'Chele, wait." He contained a sigh of relief when she did so, her feet still planted on the edge of the blanket. "On one condition."

She eyed him. "Since when are there conditions in Truth or Dare?"

"Special circumstances. You're daring me to months of work, seems fair I get something in return."

She raised an eyebrow. "I could argue that, successfully by the way, but you've got me curious." Turning about she sank onto the blanket to sit cross-legged by his feet.

"I teach you to pick locks," Darien told her.

She opened and closed her mouth several times before tipping forward to lie alongside him, laughing softly. "What the hell? We can corrupt each other." Shifting she stuck out a hand. "Deal?"

Knowing full well she'd expect him to keep his end of this little bargain he shook her hand with all the solemnity he could muster. "Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

November 1981

The deep rhythmic pounding that echoed across his senses drew him out of an odd dream involving an argument on style between Chaucer and Shakespeare that, for some unfathomable reason, had been taking place in annoyingly verbose verse. He blinked owlishly at his ceiling, the need for more sleep dragging at his eyelids, and guessing the sound had been nothing more than some unusual facet of his dream when it repeated. A loud banging coming from somewhere downstairs and accompanied by what sounded like a voice.

Tossing off the covers with a groan, he began hopping about as soon as his feet hit the cold wood of the floor; winter was looking to arrive early this year, if he was any judge. Yawning hugely and scratching absently at the back of his head he stumbled down the steps and to the front door. He froze in shock as the mystery voice called his name.

"Darien, please I..."

He undid the locks and flung the door open to find Michele standing there shivering in a tank top and shorts and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. "'Chele? What the..." His words were cut off as she flung herself at him, her arms wrapping about him in a death grip as she began babbling incoherently.

"Whoa. Slow down. What are you doing here?" He gently pushed her away from him so that he could get a look at her. The last time he'd had a girl friend this freaked was after her father had sexually abused her. Poor Kelly had been dead less than six months later.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. When they..." she stopped as a sob of pure despair escaped. "I needed a friend to... to..."

Darien figured out right then that there something was seriously wrong. "'Chele what happened?"

"They're dead," she told him at a harsh whisper, as if the words were dragged by force past her throat. "Took hours for the idiots at the airport to tell me what was going on and when they did ... I just got in my car and drove here. I... I didn't want to be alone."

Darien was feeling quite confused by this point. "Who 'Chele? Who's dead?" He was still uncertain what she was talking about.

"My parents. Their pl...pl...plane went d...down. There were n...n...no s...s...survivors," she stuttered out as the tears finally began to fall.

"Oh crap," he muttered softly as her knees chose that moment to buckle. He didn't let her go, just followed her along until they were both seated on the floor his arms holding her close as he tried to absorb her words and deal with the aftermath.

Seconds later, a hand on his shoulder nearly caused him to shout in fright. He snapped his head about to see his Uncle Peter standing there with one of the spare down comforters in his hands. "I heard. Think you can carry her?"

Darien nodded, she'd never weighed more than a bird and with the additional height he'd gained over the last few months she'd be no trouble at all. Shifting her as she continued to sob against his chest, he got his arms under her and stood up slowly. She seemed oblivious to what was going on at the moment, her despair making her blind to everything about her. Peter draped the comforter about the both of them, realizing as Darien did that 'Chele was chilled to the bone in her southern California clothing.

"Take her to the spare room. I'll be along in a minute."

Darien did as asked, heard his uncle shut and lock the front door before heading off, presumably to get his medical bag. Darien mounted the steps cautiously, turned left at the top and to the spare room. Bumping the door open with his hip he carried 'Chele to the bed and, after a moment's debate about putting her down alone, sat down on the bed and kept a hold on her. He scooted back as best he could until he was resting against the headboard and rearranged the comforter until it covered both of them a bit better. He was hoping the heat from his body would assist in convincing her shivering and chilled one to warm up a bit faster while they waited for his uncle to show.

'Chele's crying had slowed to a ragged hitching as she tried to get enough air and a fair portion of his shirt was noticeably damp by this point, but he didn't care. "Ah 'Chele, I'm so sorry." He understood exactly what she was going through, the gut wrenching pain and the deep sense of loss that losing one's parents puts someone through. He'd been there himself, twice.

Peter showed up then with his little used medical bag, set it down on the bed and began to pull out various items. With a swift efficiency that surprised Darien, Peter took 'Chele's blood pressure, pulse and temperature all without saying a single word to either of them until he was finished.

Pulling out a vial and syringe that made Darien want to crawl away, Peter spoke softly, "Michele, I want to give you something that will let you rest for a while."

Much to Darien's amazement - he'd thought she was asleep - she turned her head and spoke in a rough voice, "Are you gonna make me leave?"

Peter shook his head. "No, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to. You just need to rest for a while." He showed her the syringe containing whatever had been in the vial and she nodded. She didn't even move as Peter injected the contents into her upper arm.

"Hmmm, sedative, probably phenobarbitol," she mumbled, her words beginning to slur as the drug took effect. "Dare, please stay. I don' wanna be 'lone."

Darien looked at his uncle, who nodded.

"I'm going to make some calls. Find out if what she said is true." Peter put away the items that lay spread across the bed and then got to his feet.

"You think she's lying?" Darien asked, incredulous.

"No, but I'm hoping the information she was given was incorrect. Try and get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow."

"I will," Darien replied around a yawn as his Uncle Peter left the room, shutting the door partway behind him. Moving slowly Darien got the two of them repositioned a bit more comfortably so that they were both lying beneath the heavy comforter. "Some Thanksgiving."

***

The room was a dim gray when Darien was awoken again; the clock hadn't been set recently so he was unsure if it was early morning or if it was late and had clouded over. He had a vague memory of the weatherman mentioning a front moving in. 'Chele was lying atop him, her head on his chest, and holding a section of his thermal shirt in one tightly closed fist.

There was a soft knock on the door and Darien realized that another one like it must have been what woke him up. He cleared his throat, not really wanting anyone to see him sleeping with a girl, even if it was 'Chele, but knowing he didn't have much choice right at the moment. "Uh, yeah?"

The door opened and Peter stepped in, staying across the room. "I need to speak to you."

Darien nodded, gently freed 'Chele's grip from his shirt and slipped out from under her. She muttered something unintelligible and whimpered. Darien brushed a stray curl off her face and whispered, "'Sokay, I'll be right back." He smiled slightly when she sighed and settled back into a deeper sleep.

Seeing the look on his uncle's face, Darien knew the news was bad. "Well?" he asked as they exited the room and began to walk down the hallway.

"I made some calls, talked with her brother Patrick. The information she was given appears to be accurate. The plane Joshua and Emilia were on went down just over the Nevada/California border in the mountains near Death Valley." Peter stopped before the game room and waved Darien inside and sat down, gesturing for Darien to do the same. He did after a moment, looking and feeling stunned.

"Crap," Darien muttered, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. The situation just brought so many memories back to the surface, few good. "So now what?"

"Patrick will be here by Saturday, possibly Michael as well. I told him she's welcome to stay as long as she needs." Peter rubbed his eyes and looked incredibly tired for a long moment, and Darien suddenly realized his uncle had lost two of his friends in this accident. "Are you going to be all right?"

Darien was surprised at the concern in his uncle's voice, not thinking that his uncle would even notice that the situation might be bothering Darien. "I... Yeah. I'll do what I can, but I know how hard it is to deal with at first."

Peter got slowly to his feet and patted Darien on the shoulder. "Just be there for her. Be her friend, that's what she needs most right now. Go get cleaned up, your aunt is still going to expect your help even with Michele here."

Darien groaned and stood as well. It wasn't that he really minded helping with the Thanksgiving preparations. He kind of liked it, in fact. But he couldn't let them know that without ruining his façade of uncooperativeness. 'Chele being here just altered his focus a bit. "Gimme 15, okay?"

Pete nodded and left the room to, most likely, make a few more phone calls dealing with the apparent death of 'Chele's parents. Darien ran his hands through his hair as he glanced out the window and noticed that it had indeed clouded over. It looked dreary enough that he was willing to bet it would be raining by noon.

Going past Kevin's room Darien heard his brother snoring away, but it was a good bet Kevin would be up soon as he was expected to help out as well. Darien grabbed a change of clothes from his room and then made a valiant attempt to use up all the hot water so that when his brother showered all he'd have was tepid at best. Once he was dressed and his hair was acceptable, Darien went to check on 'Chele. He was surprised to find her awake, but staring blankly at the wall before her.

"Hey you, I gotta help my aunt for an hour or so, will you be okay?" He wished he could do more for her, but, as his uncle said, just being here should help somewhat. She had come to him after all, that must mean even she thought he'd be able to help her get through this.

"No," she admitted honestly. "I think I'll just pretend to sleep a bit more, if that's okay."

"Sure, whatever you need." Acting on his sudden urge, he set the knuckles of his right hand against her cheek. She snaked one of her hands out to hold his and he gasped at how chilled she still was.

"I'm sorry, Dare. I just didn't know where else to go." She sounded so very lost that Darien was reluctant to leave her alone for even the short time his aunt would be wanting his help. She released him and rolled away from him, curling up into a ball.

"I'll be back soon."

She nodded slightly and though he wanted to say something, anything to make it better he also knew he couldn't. As expected Darien spent a little over an hour helping his Aunt Celia prepping some of the dishes for the feast. As his shift ended Kev wandered in impeccably dressed in a white oxford and neatly pressed black slacks, grouching about the lack hot water and leveling a glare at Darien over the top of his glasses. Celia had learned a long time ago that it was easier to have the brothers work in shifts than to try to convince them to work together for more than five minutes without a fight or argument breaking out.

Darien washed his hands, dried them on a towel, grabbed a couple of apples and ran from the room with a hasty, "Hey, Kev." He didn't slow down, rushing up the stairs two at a time and skidding to a halt outside her room. He knocked on it and after a second, when there was no response, poked his head in and looked about. He was shocked to see that the room appeared to be empty. "'Chele?" He noticed the comforter was gone as well, but he couldn't imagine her just wandering off.

He checked the bathrooms, Kev's room, even his own bedroom getting more worried by the moment. Just about the time he was going to head downstairs to let Celia know 'Chele was missing he noticed the window in the upstairs playroom was open a couple of inches, just enough to allow a chill breeze in to tease his ankles and toes. He rubbed the fog off the glass and looked out to see 'Chele sitting just a few feet away. Putting one of the apples between his teeth, he opened the window and climbed out. He settled down next to her, bit through his apple, chewed and swallowed before speaking.

"So you found my spot, huh?" He handed her the other apple, which she took after a moment.

She held up the apple and examined it minutely before deciding to do nothing, making it vanish under the blanket. "Well, the conveniently placed tree kinda gives it away." She rubbed the side of her face and shifted slightly. "You always did have a head for heights." Her voice lowered to a mumble as she stared out across the backyard. "Sorry about ruining your holiday."

"You didn't. Livened it up a bit in fact," Darien said around a mouthful of apple. They sat in silence for a while, him munching on the apple, until the sound of chattering teeth - hers - got his attention. "Time for you to head in."

"W...w...why?"

"'Cause your nose is redder than your hair," he told her with a grin.

She shook her head. "Not ready to yet." She pulled the comforter a bit closer about herself. "You ever have really vivid dreams?"

Darien thought about it for a minute before answering. "Yeah, sometimes." The nightmares he'd had after his mom's death has lingered for years; he could still call them up if really wanted to.

"I started having this dream two weeks ago, one about... about the plane going down." She barely got the words out past her chattering teeth and Darien suspected it was more than just the cold that was causing it. "I... I saw them die."

"'Chele,"

But it was as if she hadn't even heard him. "I even told them about it, told them to wait, to come out at Christmas instead, but they said I was just being silly. That it was nothing but a dream and didn't mean anything." She broke out in harsh laughter. "I wish. I wish it were nothing more than a bad dream. Give anything for it to be nothing but a dream."

Darien recognized the sound of an impending crying jag and ignored the almost mandatory urge to roll his eyes and move away from her. Instead he scooted closer, wrapped his arm about her and pulled her to him. "S'alright."

'Chele didn't resist his hold and turned her head to bury it against his shoulder for long minutes until she had cried herself out and her breathing was a harsh hitching in her chest. Her voice was raw when she finally pulled herself together enough to speak. "You must hate when I act like such a girl."

"I'll forgive you since you are a girl and all," Darien told her and smiled as she laughed, coughed and sniffled all at the same time. Diving into the pocket of his jeans he came up with a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she took it from him. She wiped her eyes and hiccupped as she slowly regained control. If she was going to say anything else it was lost in the shout from below them.

"Darien!"

"What?" Darien shouted back.

"Darien, where the heck are you?" Kevin appeared in the yard below them, looking about in confusion.

"Bro, look up." Darien shook his head, not impressed with Kevin's observational skills.

Kevin spun about and tipped his head back to see them. "Darien, Peter is going to ground you again for being up there." Only then did he seem to notice Michele. "Oh! 'Chele you're up there too." He shifted his glasses and managed to look properly embarrassed. "Aren't you cold?"

"F...f...f...freezing," she admitted.

"Well shorts and tank tops ain't nearly warm enough here this time of year. Town ain't called Cold Springs for nothin'." Darien pondered the situation for a minute. "I can probably scrounge up something for you to borrow, considerin' I've outgrown so much this past year and I doubt you thought to pack."

'Chele shifted and a second later dangled a set of keys from her hand. Keys that Darien knew went to the cute little VW bug she'd gotten for her birthday not even a month ago. She'd gotten her driver's license just days after turning 16. "Bags are in the trunk. We were gonna drive down to San Diego from the airport, spend the week seeing the sights there." Darien rubbed her back gently, fully understanding how hard it was for her to talk about.

Taking the keys from her, he looked down at his brother who was waiting on the dead grass down below. "Do me a favor, Kev?"

Kevin's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What?"

Darien tossed the keys, which Kevin caught with only a slight bobble. "Get 'Chele's bags from her car, please?"

Kevin looked like he was going to toss the keys right back at Darien, but a glance over at 'Chele combined with the rarely heard 'please' from Darien must have swayed him. "Sure. I'll take them up to her room." He began to leave, but paused. "May I suggest you get her inside before she becomes hypothermic?"

"Yes, Dr. Fawkes," Darien sniped, earning another glare for the collection.

'Chele smacked Darien weakly on the arm once Kevin had left. "Don't tease him, Dare. You might need him to save your ass one day and you don't want him holding a grudge." 'Chele finished up her admonition with a sneeze.

"But he can be such a tight-wad," Darien argued good naturedly, making her snicker. "He's right though, you should get inside and warm up." He allowed just a touch of concern to seep into his words, enough to let her know he was really worried.

"Yeah, I suppose so," she agreed and permitted him to assist her as they climbed back in through the window.

Celia happened to be walking by the playroom as they made their grand entrance and she immediately went to the pair. "Darien, what on earth were you thinking?"

"M...my idea, Celia," 'Chele said through her shivers. "S...sorry."

Celia went to the obviously chilled girl and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Hush, my dear, I'm not angry. Come now, let's get you into a hot bath before you catch your death..."

Darien groaned audibly at his aunt's poor choice of words. "'Chele..."

"It's all right, Darien. Go and try to enjoy your holiday." 'Chele set a hand on his arm and he surprised himself by covering it with one of his own, noticing it was like touching an ice cube.

"I'll be around, just holler if you need me." Darien nodded towards 'Chele, hoping she would know that he meant every word.

"Darien, if you would help Kevin in the kitchen while I get Shelly settled I would greatly appreciate it." Celia made it clear that Darien had no choice in the matter.

"Ahh, I'll just go do that." Darien pointed in the direction of the stairs and shuffled away to the sound of 'Chele chuckling followed shortly by another sneeze. By the time reached the head of the staircase he could hear Celia fussing over 'Chele in that way only his aunt could manage.

Trotting into the kitchen he saw Kevin standing there looking over the neatly piled vegetables on the counter. Kevin glanced at Darien with a blank look. 

"I'll take the carrots and you take the potatoes?" Kevin suggested.

"Sure." Darien walked to the pile of potatoes, which put the huge double sink between him and his brother, picked up the paring knife, a potato, and began to peel off the tough skin. He kept himself amused by attempting to remove the skin in one long continuous strip, much like one would with an apple.

After about 10 minutes with no noise other than the sound of metal scraping against starchy flesh, Kevin spoke up in a soft voice. "Is 'Chele okay?"

Darien shrugged, set down the stripped spud and picked up another. "Were you?"

"Eventually," Kevin stated as he continued peeling the carrot in his hand.

"So won't she ... eventually."

***

The table was set perfectly as always, the napkins precisely folded into artistic shapes thanks to Darien, the candles flickering gently in the subtle breeze created by the heating system kicking on. The table was lined with all the traditional foods, the huge turkey at the head of the table waiting to be carved by Peter. Outside the gloom had deepened and rain had begun to fall, rain that might very well become the first snowfall of the year if it continued into the overnight hours. Oddly appropriate for both the holiday and the unexpected news of early that morning.

Kevin was shifting impatiently in his seat, the seemingly endless wait getting the better of his usual patience. "Can we please eat? I'm starving."

"Just as soon as..." Celia began in an admonishing tone just as Darien and 'Chele entered the room. "Ah, here they are now." Celia got to her feet and bustled about. "Darien, you sit in your usual spot, Shelly you may sit here."

'Chele sat midway down on one side of the table while the two brothers sat beside each other across from her. "Sorry we took so long, but I was still cold," she explained as Celia returned to her seat.

"I loaned her a sweater." Darien shrugged. "Not like it fits me any more." Sadly true; the black v-neck sweater had been his favorite all last winter, but now, while dainty Michele was swallowed up by it, it was far too small on his current frame. When he'd tried it on a couple weeks ago it had been uncomfortably tight and the sleeves had been miles too short.

"That was very kind of you, Darien," Celia commented. "Peter, if you would begin."

Darien had warned 'Chele about the yearly tradition of each person listing a couple of things they were thankful for in the past year. He personally thought it was pretty stupid, but always managed to come up with something to say that satisfied his aunt and uncle. He had assured 'Chele that she would not be expected to participate and was prepared to intervene on her behalf if any attempt was made.

Through most of it he watched her as she sat staring with seeming fascination at her hands that lay beneath the table edge in her lap. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, stray curls escaping to hang about her face and move in the gentle breeze blowing through the room, she was drawn and pale under the tan, and her eyes, on the few occasions she glanced his way, were dull with pain and unshed tears.

For a change when his turn came he didn't have to fumble for what to say even though, until that moment, he'd not had any idea what words would come from within. "I'm thankful that I have someone who trusts me enough to come to me for help, for encouraging me to try especially when I don't want to, for being there when I need someone to talk to. Heck, for putting up with me." 'Chele had lifted her head and was staring at Darien with her eyes wide in astonishment. "And I am very thankful she's here with us today, though the circumstances behind it are so sad." He winked at her and she managed a sad smile in return. "'When one is grateful for something too good for common thanks, writing is less unsatisfactory than speech - one does not, at least, hear how inadequate the words are.' George Eliot."

He turned to his uncle, who nodded to let Darien know he was off the hook for another year.

As Peter stood to carve the turkey, Kevin kicked Darien in the shin and whispered, "Crap, Darien, you'd think you had a crush on her or something." Kevin then proceeded to make kissy noises with all the maturity of a five year old until Darien returned the kick. "Ow!" Kevin complained glaring at his younger brother who kept his own look completely innocent.

"Boys," Celia warned.

"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison, making 'Chele chuckle and try to hide it behind a manufactured cough.

Celia leaned towards 'Chele in a conspiratorial manner and said, "Every year it's the same; they bicker and fight all the way through dinner and then fall asleep in the den while watching a football game."

"That's not true," Kevin argued defensively.

"Hey, that's, like, a lie," Darien squalled at almost the exact same time.

'Chele didn't bother hiding the laughter this time and soon everyone had joined in. For short while they were all able to be thankful they were together and forget the circumstances that had caused it.

***

After wolfing down two full plates of food, Darien noticed that 'Chele had done nothing more than push her tiny portions about the plate for the last 15 minutes. He debated for an instant having some more turkey and sweet potatoes, but decided he could wait and 'Chele couldn't. "May I be excused?"

"Of course," Peter said with a nod, only appearing slightly surprised at Darien's sudden politeness.

Darien put his napkin on the table and got to his feet. He even remembered to slide the chair back into place before walking around the table to stand behind 'Chele. He set a hand on her shoulder and crouched down so that she had to look down slightly to see him. "Come on, that food ain't gonna get any more exciting."

'Chele set her fork down on the side of the plate with a sigh and looked over at Celia. "Sorry, I'm just not feeling very hungry right now."

"It's all right, Shelly. Why don't you head into the den and watch some TV. Kevin can help with the clean up."

Kevin opened his mouth to protest, but a withering glance from Celia kept him silent.

Darien escorted 'Chele from the dining room and to the other side of the house where the den was located. She stood just inside the doorway as Darien went to the huge console television and turned it on. It was ancient, but still got a pretty decent picture. He flipped through several channels until he found the football game.

"Sit you. You look like you're about to fall over."

It took her a moment to even register the fact that he'd spoken to her based on her blank look. "Dare?" she asked in a lost voice.

He walked over to her, took one of her hands and tugged her into motion. She stumbled along behind him, not really seeing anything as she tried to deal with the sudden and unexpected loss in her life. Getting her to sit on the sofa he watched as she curled up in one corner staring at the TV without really seeing it. Sprawling in his usual spot his eyes kept flicking from the TV, to her and back again as her continued silence began to worry him. "I can find something else if you want." In truth the game didn't really interest him this year.

"It's fine. I like football, remember?" she responded in a monotone.

Scratching his ear, he contemplated how to draw her out of this sudden blue funk before she fell too far to come back. He remembered all the buzzwords from when he went through it and knew that emotional shock could easily deteriorate into actual shock and require her to head to the hospital in hopes of bringing her back. "Michele,"

"How'd you get through it?" she suddenly asked at a bare whisper.

"I don't really know." He'd been both fearing and hoping she'd start talking to him even though he knew it would bring up memories that still hurt. "I was a lot younger than you are and I really didn't understand what was going on at first. Like when my dad left." He shifted to sit sideways, drawing one leg up onto the sofa and resting one arm along the back. "I mostly remember being so angry at her for leaving. I even went so far as to throw away just about every picture of her I could find." He shook his head as he remembered those horrific days of confusion and loneliness. "I'm not sure what I was thinking."

"You thought that since she didn't want you any more that you didn't want her either," 'Chele told him in a soft voice.

He just stared at her in shock, her words making perfect sense. "How...?"

"Psych class. Required course. Not uncommon behavior for anyone after a major loss." Her tone was perfectly flat, no emotion, no inflection to the words, none of her usual color. She'd pulled the sleeves down over her hands and was rubbing them together as if unable to get them warm. "It hurts, Darien. This deep ache that I'm afraid to examine too closely 'cause I know the wound underneath might never heal." 

He recognized that tone, that look, had seen it on Kevin's face for many long months after their mom had died. It had taken Uncle Peter catching Kev's interest with some experiment for it to begin to fade and for the real Kevin to rejoin the world. Though there were times Darien wondered if Kev had just changed the focus of his pain, that, instead of shutting it all within himself, he vented the frustration and pain in the work, the science.

Darien reached out to 'Chele and drew her closer; she didn't resist, but neither did she help. He rested his forehead against hers. "'Chele, you are my best friend in the world, I don' wanna lose you too."

She wasn't crying, her despair and pain having moved beyond her ability to shed tears. She'd gone numb instead, trying to not let anything affect her, but Darien was hoping he could. "It gets better, I swear it does, but you gotta give it time."

She shuddered in his gentle hold, as if trying to resist the pull of his words. "Dare," she whispered, "you're my best friend too."

He gave her a wry smile. "I know. Now, even I can tell you are exhausted..."

"I don't want to be alone," she protested, the words conveying the depth of her pain to his heart.

"Then you won't be." He shifted to sit at the far end of the sofa and moved a couple of the throw pillows to rest against his thigh. "Lay down. I'll be right here."

She didn't hesitate more than a second and, even stretched out, her feet just barely bumped the arm of the other end. He allowed his arm to drape across her torso and didn't even flinch when she grabbed it and held on tight. He was... honored that he was able to help her in some small way.

"Thanks, Darien." 

"Anytime."

Minutes later her grip loosened as she relaxed completely into an emotionally exhausted slumber. Moving carefully, he grabbed the blanket that was lying on the back of the sofa and covered her with it. Then he attempted to turn his focus back to the game on TV.

He caught himself playing with the loose curls of her hair, something he'd always wanted to do, although it had always seemed a bit too presumptuous of him to try and there was no way he could ask permission without feeling like a fool. He'd stop himself only to find his fingers once again entwined with the bright red locks only minutes later. Finally he just gave in and reveled in the feel of the soft curls.

Kevin wandered in just as half time was beginning bearing tray with pie and milk for three. He didn't seem very surprised to find Michele asleep or the fact that she was all but using Darien as her pillow. He set the tray down on the long coffee table in front of the sofa that Darien's feet were resting on, and moved one plate and glass to the side table by Darien's elbow.

"Thanks, Kev," Darien said softly and, for a change, meaning the words.

"Aunt Celia figured you'd be hungry by now since lately you seem to be a bottomless pit," Kevin commented as he grabbed his own plate and glass and sat down in a nearby chair.

Darien freed his fingers from 'Chele's hair and wrangled the pie closer. Pumpkin with whipped cream and that extra dash of cinnamon on top, just the way he liked it. He tried to go slow, but he was, as his aunt had surmised, starved and the slice vanished in three massive bites followed quickly by the glass of milk. He managed to contain the belch and emitted a sigh of contentment.

Kevin must have noticed when Darien's fingers slid back into 'Chele's curls to begin their aimless twirling of them again.

"You really like her don't you?"

Darien gave Kevin a confused look. "Of course I like her, she's my friend." He made it plain that it should have been obvious to Kevin after all this time.

Kevin shook his head. "No. I mean you _like_ her."

Darien opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, for some reason not wanting to give voice to words he had just realized would be a lie. "Yeah, I guess I do." He shrugged. "Not that it matters. Being her friend is what's important."

Kevin did a double take. "When did you suddenly get so smart?"

Darien grinned, finding this question easy to answer with the truth. "When I agreed to some mutual corruption." Kevin's look of complete confusion only served to make Darien's grin broader.


	3. Chapter 3

June 1985

Rubbing the back of his head sleepily, Darien paused in the doorway of the kitchen to indulge in a cat-like stretch that caused the vivid orange shirt he was wearing to part, revealing that not only had he failed to button it, but that he was tanned a deep brown from spending the majority of his hours outside under the summer sun. His stomach grumbling its need for caloric input, he shuffled into the room and straight to the refrigerator on a hunt for his breakfast, never mind the fact that it was nearly 11am.

"Mornin' sleepyhead," a soft, feminine voice said to him as he swung the door open making various parts of his body react to the sudden chill draft.

"Hey 'Chele," he mumbled around a yawn as he poked about in the fridge searching for the half a grapefruit he could have sworn he'd left in there yesterday.

"Takes him a while to regain full consciousness don't it?" 'Chele asked with laughter in her voice.

"That's putting it mildly," Peter responded in the same tone.

This time the voice registered on his sleep-fogged mind and, amazingly, had the same effect as Celia telling him he'd overslept and was late for school; a sudden spike of adrenaline that flung him into full consciousness quickly. A cold shower had nothing on this reaction. Raising his head to peek over the top of the fridge door, he focused on the relaxed, smiling countenance of Michele sitting at the wooden breakfast table in the kitchen. "'Chele?" he squeaked, his voice hitting notes it hadn't managed in almost four years.

"Amazing deduction there, Sherlock." She leaned forward on the table and pointed a finger at him. "Thought I'd drop by to torture you on your birthday, but Pete tells me you're off to some unsupervised party."

Darien just stared at her, unable to think of a single thing to say, his mind totally absorbed with just seeing _her_. Her hair hung loose, to fall just past her shoulders, the curls wild and untamed, one stray one insisting on falling in front of her right eye, making her try and brush it back out of the way every few seconds. Her eyes were that blue-gray of a storm tossed sea and looking far lighter than he remembered. Her face was fine boned and completely without make-up from what he could tell. His eyes wandered down the line of her throat to the black silk cord about her neck from which hung a silver ankh - a gift from a friend of hers at school - then lower to the slightly lighter toned flesh revealed by the top of her shirt dipping down just far enough.

He forced himself to stop there and swallowed with some difficulty. He'd realized when she'd visited this past Christmas that he was more than a little attracted to her, much to Kevin's amusement and Darien's dismay, but was positive there was no way in hell she could feel the same. Besides he didn't want to risk messing up the awesome friendship they had by putting the moves on her. Or worse still, having her laugh and reject him.

Peter cleared his throat making Darien snap back to reality and realize that he'd been standing there staring at her for far longer than he should have. She was watching him with amusement in her eyes and a small smile gracing her lips. "Umm, yeah. Bunch of us getting together out at the lake. You're welcome to come. Along," he added quickly when he realized how his offer could be interpreted. "Unless you have other plans of course."

Michele glanced at Peter and some unspoken communication flowed between them. "Nothing that can't wait a day or two. You sure it'll be okay? I mean, I'm probably gonna be older than anyone else there."

"And looking younger," Darien commented as he turned back to the fridge to root around a bit more and finally come up with his prize. Carrying the cellophane wrapped citrus to the counter he retrieved a bowl, unwrapped it and dropped it into the concave container. Then, after fetching a spoon from the appropriate drawer, he topped it with a single spoonful of sugar. Standing at the counter he lifted the bowl and began to eat, not willing to risk the potential physical reaction that sitting next to her might very well cause.

"Younger," 'Chele grumbled. "Don't remind me. It was hard enough being taken seriously when I was 16, now it's a pain in the ahhh... butt." She blushed slightly and glanced at Peter.

He shook his head in amusement and got to his feet. "This works out, actually. I'll look over that data you brought. I'll need a couple days to sort through it anyway. You just relax and have some fun."

"Thanks, Peter, for everything," Michele said to him with all due sincerity.

"Michele, it's the least I can do," Peter told her, then gave Darien a meaningful look that he failed to understand completely, before leaving the room.

"Nice jams there, bub," 'Chele said with a grin once Peter had left the room.

Darien gulped down the remaining grapefruit and quickly cleaned up. The shorts in question were almost a bright as the shirt he wore, done in tie-dyed combo of neon blue, green and yellow. He plucked at them and muttered, "Well, this way I stand a chance of gettin' noticed."

'Chele snorted in amusement. "Dare, you could dress like Kevin in stuffy suits complete with tie and you would still most definitely 'get noticed'."

Darien looked at her in disbelief.

"You really have no idea do you?" She shook her head. "Just wait, once the girls on campus see you... well, lets just say you won't be lacking for female companionship or male if that's your preference."

"You're dreaming," Darien scoffed. "Though for the record I prefer female companionship, as you should damn well know."

'Chele burst out laughing. "I know, as you have regaled me with your exploits for months now. You still seeing Samantha?"

Darien shook his head. "Nah, that pretty much ended when school did. S'okay though, means I'm free to fool around all summer long."

"Sorry I didn't make your Graduation, but four finals in two weeks kinda had to take precedence." She leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs out underneath the table and he noticed that not only were her feet bare, but the toenails were painted bright pink. 

Darien shrugged. He had been slightly hurt by her not showing up, but her phone call and the gift she'd sent him had more than made up for her not being there in person. It had only been later that he learned she'd had the ill luck of having finals scheduled at the same time. According to Uncle Peter she hadn't wanted him to worry. "I loved the books, by the way. The quote book with the interpretations is my favorite."

"I told you so," she stated softly, her hand brushing back that stray curl yet again and revealing a ring he hadn't noticed before, one located on her left ring finger and looking like it was worth a small fortune based on the healthy glint of the karats. It also caused his heart to drop to the floor in reaction.

"Yeah, you did. Top ten percent of my class and everything. Who'da thunk it?" Darien forced a smile on his face. Just the thought that she might have made a commitment to someone, anyone hurt far more than he'd ever thought possible, which surprised him as she had always encouraged him in his attempts with the opposite sex. Why should he be feeling ... jealous, of all things, if she was able to find some happiness in a relationship?

"And done a year early, no less. I'm damn proud of you, Darien." She got to her feet and walked over to stand before him. "Hard to believe four years ago you never thought you'd make it this far and now you're heading to college to major in Literature." She leaned back against the counter next to him, close enough for him to smell the bright scent of her and feel the warmth of her arm as it brushed his.

"And minor in Philosophy, lets not forget," he added as he scratched absently at his chest.

"Hmm, make sure to take some Psych courses. Understanding human behavior can be useful for lots of things." Her tone was desert dry and Darien was more than able to pick up on exactly what she was referring to.

"You are not gonna lecture me on that too?" He stepped away from her, very upset that she was suddenly turning into his aunt and uncle.

Her quiet, "Darien," stopped him. 

"What?" his tone was more than a little belligerent. It was the one thing that still got him in trouble, the fact that he hadn't ever dropped his forays into thieving, he'd just gotten more careful and caught less often. It was just something that was part of him and though he'd tried to stop a few times, he found he was never really happy without planning some midnight raid or prank. Especially now that he had someone to plan with.

'Chele frowned slightly. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Sure, whatever," Darien grumbled, figuring on a whole spiel about how he'd have to behave at college and everything. Taking a deep breath he made himself change the subject. "You pack a swim suit?"

"Yes," she answered sounding relieved he'd moved on to a new subject.

"Well, go grab it and a towel. We've got places to be and a party to enjoy." Darien waved her towards the doorway making her grin.

"Yes, master," was her witty comeback as she scooted past him and towards the doorway.

Catching up with her he intentionally ran into her, his hands coming down on her shoulders. "Master? I like the sound of that."

***

Turning off the engine, 'Chele sighed and looked out the windshield at the deep blue waters just barely visible from the parking lot. The area directly before them was a gentle slope covered with tons of trucked in sand to create a man-made beach for visitors to lounge on. Curving about the far side were the broken remains of granite proving that millennia ago the roof of the underground tunnel that the river flowed through had collapsed at this point. She could see steps carved into the walls and as she watched someone jumped off a wide ledge about halfway up the cliff to splash into the water below.

"Hey, you okay?" Darien asked as he leaned against the window. One cooler sat at his feet while the other was still in the trunk of her shiny new Mustang. She'd traded in the Beetle a few months ago in favor of something with air conditioning. He had to admit that, for a girl and all, she had great taste in cars. He'd been drooling over this model for a while now, but hadn't managed to scrounge up the money needed to buy one for himself and probably wouldn't be able to for quite a while. Even with a scholarship most of his funds were needed for college.

"Would you believe me if I said I was nervous?" she told him as she turned to look up at him, her hands squeezing and releasing the cushioned steering wheel.

"Nervous? What the hell for?" Darien couldn't imagine her being nervous in any situation much less this one, but he could tell by the look on her face that she really was.

"Well, these are your friends. You've known them for ages and I'm a complete stranger to them. What if they don't like me? What if..."

"Stop right there." He set a finger over her lips silencing her. "There is little chance the guys won't like you," He looked her over and was rewarded with a sudden reddening of her cheeks, "though the gals might have to deal with a few jealousy issues at first." He chuckled softly and removed his hand from her lips to play with a curl. "This should be amusing, ain't none of them gonna be prepared for you."

"Oh, like that helps at all," she complained with a grin.

He opened the door and held out a hand, which she took and slid out of the car; stuffing the keys in her pocket she tipped her head back to look up at him. "Come on, it's my birthday and I wanna have some fun."

"And when don't you manage to have fun?" she asked as she moved past him and to the trunk where she grabbed not only the second cooler but the oversized towels that had been tossed in as well. "I think I'll leave the blanket for now. We can always come back for it later."

A sudden shout of, "Yo, Fawkesy, what's the hold up?" drew Darien's attention away from watching 'Chele to the countenance to one of his best friends and inevitable cohort in pranks down about the town.

"Yo, yourself John-boy." Darien grinned looking forward to this upcoming introduction. He heard 'Chele shut the trunk and seconds later appear at his side with the smaller cooler in her hands, but Darien was watching John whose eyes widened as they locked on Michele.

John actually stopped in place, blinked several times, rubbed his eyes and returned to the shocked staring, which made Darien chuckle. Bending down he picked up the cooler and, with 'Chele beside him walked towards and then past his friend who did nothing more that turn about and continue to look at them in complete disbelief.

As they stepped off the hard packed dirt that was the parking lot and onto the sand 'Chele bumped Darien with an elbow. "Uh, is your friend back there, okay?"

"He will be," Darien assured her and led her to the group of about 20 teens just about evenly divided between guys and girls that had taken over one section of the beach. As they approached several of the group broke away and came over to the pair and relieved them of the coolers, carrying them over to the grassy picnic area where all the rest of the food and libations were. Darien could tell they were all curious about 'Chele and began the introductions, knowing that she would commit both face and name of everyone to memory the first time. Well, except for the twins, maybe. Even Darien sometimes still failed to call them by the correct names.

"Well, well, Pizza, I guess you lose that bet after all," the raven-haired, blue-eyed Rich said as his eyes wandered over 'Chele.

'Chele turned her now confused gaze on Darien. "Bet? Care to explain?"

"Uh, no?" Darien replied suddenly feeling more than a bit sheepish. Was it his fault no one believed him?

"Pizza, here, didn't believe you were real," Rich explained, hooking a thumb at the disbeliever in question. "He was convinced you were some fantasy chick cooked up by Fawksey's vivid imagination."

Pizza rushed to defend himself. "Hey, those photos he keeps showing everyone are just too perfect. Look like ones that come with a wallet or picture frame."

"Good lord, Dare, what have you been showing them?" 'Chele asked in exasperation. "Please tell me it wasn't those fancy shots the admin made me get for that science rag? Please?"

"Maybe?" Darien ducked his head and refused to meet her eyes. Personally he'd thought those photos were great and he'd even bought a couple copies of 'that rag;' an obscure, to him, science journal that had interviewed several of the top science students in the US for an article titled, _The New Faces of Science_. Kevin had made the cut as well, which Uncle Peter had been joyous about, but Darien had panned.

Darien had been thrilled to finally show his friends pictures of the girl he'd been talking about for years, only to have not a single one of them believe him.

Laughter erupted from the group, causing Darien to turn a brilliant crimson and try to fade back into the scenery until 'Chele finally took pity on him. "It's all right, though it does make me wonder exactly what you have been fantasizing about."

"'Chele!" Darien squawked in total mortification, hoping it wasn't obvious that she'd been the target of more than one fantasy and dream of his lately.

"Get over it, D," Pizza ordered as he sidled in between the two. "So, according to Fawkesy you're in college with his geeky bro." He gave her the once over making Darien's blood boil, but since 'Chele said nothing he held his temper.

"Yep, though not the same courses. I just finished my undergrad studies and will be heading for grad school come fall," 'Chele told them, not quite realizing the effect her words would have.

Darien had to clap John on the back when he went dead still and seemed to forget to breathe. Then her simply spoken statement sank in. "Wait you graduated?"

"Yes. No big deal. The ceremony was just a formality since I've been doing grad work for two semesters. I was supposed to be working on a research project for part of the summer, but they had problems securing the lab time at the last minute." Darien and several others just stared at her. "What?"

"Damn. You really _are_ that smart," Rich commented in a hushed voice.

"You say that like it's some kind of contagious disease or something," 'Chele said in irritation.

"Whoa, hold on. Kevin they can rag on, you they won' ... or else." Darien looked about at his friends. He was certain that if they gave 'Chele even half a chance they'd quickly learn she was nothing like Kev and his geekoid friends.

Rich raised his hands in surrender. "Hey man, just making an observation. No one that cute can be all that bad." Janice smacked him one on the arm and proceeded to berate him about his comment, making it plain that _she_ was his girl, but wouldn't be for much longer if he kept crap like that up.

Pizza cleared his throat and offered up a new topic for consideration. "Can we get this party started? We have a birthday to celebrate," He gave Darien the once over, "and a birthday boy to deal with."

Darien hesitated exactly one second and took off at a run with a muttered, "Oh crap." and half the kids hot on his heels. He stood little chance of escaping and they quickly cornered him, dragged him to the lake and tossed him in.


	4. Chapter 4

***

A couple hours later, the first round of burgers and hot dogs sizzled on the grill, watched over by the a few of the kids' parents who, while technically not supervising the party and enjoying their own little get together, still kept and eye on the boisterous, but overall well behaved group. Even Darien and John were on their, comparably, best behavior.

Sidling over to Darien, John nodded towards 'Chele. "Ya gotta do it. It's tradition."

Darien sighed knowing John would drive him nuts until he performed one of Cold Springs almost mandatory requirements. He was pretty sure it was even written up as some obscure law way back when the town was founded. "I suppose, but if she kills me I'm blaming you."

"Kill? Man, she couldn't hurt a fly," John sniggered until Darien smacked him on the arm.

"Right, she's been taking karate for years. Brown belt, I think. She could flatten you without effort." Darien felt immense satisfaction when John's laughter cut off abruptly. Striding away he joined 'Chele who had taken an observational position on the rough-cut stairs leading up to several of the jump off points. People had been in and out of the water most of the day, a few even going for a few jumps off the cliff, but mostly it had consisted of some disorganized volleyball and goofing off with music blasting out of the boom box that had been brought.

As he got closer he noticed the way she kept rubbing the back of her neck and was betting she was working on one of her migraines. She'd begun getting them about six months ago and found it best to get away from others until they had faded. He planted himself so he was blocking the sunlight and she tipped her head up to look at him with a smile.

"Need a break?"

"Yeah. How'd ya guess?" She took the hand he held out to her and, helping her upright, found her standing dead even with him, neither having to tip their head up or down to look the other in the eye.

He waved for her to head up the rough-cut steps, which she proceeded to climb with an agility that didn't surprise him in the least. She'd grown up climbing rocks like these, only those cliffs dropped off into the Atlantic, with jagged rocks and crashing waves at the end of the fall and not the deep still waters of a mountainside pool. "You got all squinty and were rubbing the back of your neck. Can't be that stressful can it? It's just a party."

"Nothing to do with the party, Dare. Just me," she replied softly, and to Darien it sounded as if she wanted to say more, but stopped herself. They made it all the way to the top before she spoke again. "How've you been, really?" She walked to the very edge, her toes actually hanging over open air as she looked down at the water below. 

"Fine, why?" Darien was sorely tempted to yank her back from the edge, but stayed a couple of steps behind her and waited until she had satisfied whatever her cat-like curiosity had been after and backed away on her own. Sitting down on the sun-warmed rock she looked up at him.

"Well, I spoke to Kevin about a week ago and he mentioned you'd found yourself a... mentor, though he didn't use that word." Her tone was quiet and non-accusing, but Darien still felt himself begin to get defensive.

"Yeah, I just bet he used a stronger word or two. Was 'bitch' perhaps among his choices?" Darien sneered; really wishing the conversation hadn't started off here. He wasn't quite sure why he'd never mentioned Liz to 'Chele even though he'd known his _mentor_ since junior high, and was now second-guessing that decision.

'Chele didn't even crack a smile. "Perhaps."

"Damn it, I don't need lectures from you too." 

She shook her head, the curls bouncing about in response. "And you're not going to get one. Just a request." 

Darien rolled his eyes. "Like what?"

"Be careful is all." When Darien just stared at her in confusion, she patted the spot beside her and after a moment he sat down. "Darien, I am not Kevin or your uncle. It's not my place to pass judgment on you or what you do." Closing her eyes for a moment she rubbed her forehead in obvious discomfort. "Though advice I'll toss at you every chance I get. Take Psych, behavioral studies. Trust me on this, its provides insights that every burgeoning con-man needs to learn." 

Darien shook his head, not entirely sure he understood. "You're offering advice on how I can be a better con-man? Think you could prescribe the rest of my family a supply of whatever drugs you've been taking?"

She smiled then, a real smile that eased the tightness in his chest, though it seemed to inspire a whole host of other reactions as well. "They just don't see the way you light up when you talk about it. It's the same look you get when discussing your latest philosophic conquest. You love it and anything that makes you that happy can't be all bad."

Darien was dumbfounded. The way she saw him, saw through him was so different and yet so damn close to the reality that the few minor differences could be glossed over and ignored as insignificant. "Are you for real?"

'Chele laughed softly. "I just have a different perspective is all,"

"Well keep it. I happen to like it. How long can you stay?" He was hoping she'd be here all summer, but wasn't betting on it.

"Three weeks and then I gotta head back east." Her voice dropped towards the end and she turned away to look at the cliffs opposite where they were sitting.

"All of you getting together?" Darien asked able to tell she was upset, but unsure why.

"That too. Were packing up the house and selling it. We've all moved into our own places, even Mikey what with him going to Quantico now that he's finished his four years at MIT. Him going into government service, and as an agent no less. I never would have believed it if you'd told me." She shook her head in obvious consternation at her twin's career choice. "We don't need the house." She was still unable to meet his eyes, her voice tight and edged with pain. "Sell or give away what we don't want and divvy up the rest."

Darien allowed the first thing that came to mind to be voiced aloud. "Want some help?"

Now she turned to look at him and he did his best to let her see he was serious, that he'd gladly help with this painful task if she wanted him to.

"Thank you, but _we_ need to do this. Kinda like our final goodbye, ya know?" She reached out with her left hand and tapped him on the knee and he set his over hers and squeezed gently. 

He did understand. Lifting her hand he noticed the ring of earlier was gone and allowed his mouth to forge ahead without bothering to think about it first. "So where's the ring and who gave it to you?"

One eyebrow went up as she eyed him. "Jealous?"

"Maybe?" he countered. "And maybe I just want to make sure you're happy." True enough, he just wasn't sure he wanted her to be happy with someone else.

"Silly. It was my mom's engagement ring. Part of the bequest. I started wearing it a few months back to ward off idiots who think with nothing but their hormones," she told him with a sad smile on her face, the pain still just under the surface.

"They still don't know who did it?" The final NTSB report on the accident that killed her parents and five others had been released just a little over a month ago. There'd been miles of red tape to wade through before she'd finally gotten and unedited copy and the answers had, in many ways, done nothing more than raise even more questions.

"Not a clue. They can't even be entirely sure the targets were my parents, though they were the most prominent people on board." 'Chele turned away and tipped her head back to look up at the clear blue dome of the sky above them. "I mean a bomb? And the only reason I didn't get to witness the damn thing personally was cause the timer was triggered early due to turbulence over the Rockies." She shifted to sit cross-legged, her hands coming up to her face. A muffled, "Sorry," came a moment later. 

"Hey, it's okay." Darien scooted closer to her, set a hand on her back and leaned his head near hers. 

"No, it's not," she grumbled as she dropped her hands and sighed. Turning she faced him, mere inches separating the two of them. "Not today. It's your birthday and I am not going to mess it up for you by getting all emotional."

Darien fought the sudden urge to lean the rest of the way in and kiss her and instead just trailed his fingers higher until they were resting on the back of her neck. Pulling her closer he rested his forehead against hers, a gesture that had become a common one between them over the years. "Don't worry about it. It happens to me too. Something'll remind me of my mom and I just..." He wasn't quite sure how to put in words how it felt, that sudden constriction in his throat and chest and deep painful sense of pure loss. "I don't think it ever hurts less."

"You're probably right, but having someone who understands helps more than you can ever imagine," 'Chele told him in a soft voice, causing him to chuckle dryly.

"I think I might have some idea." Darien gave her a smile and relaxed when she responded in kind.

"Yo, Fawkes, get your scrawny ass down here. It's your party, remember?" was shouted by the unmistakable voice of Pizza.

Darien released 'Chele, got to his feet and looked down at John who proceeded to make jumping motions with his hands to remind Darien of what mischief he was supposed to be getting into. 

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," Darien said in response and Pizza flipped Darien the bird, which was used to direct his attention to the water.

With a sigh Darien turned about, stripped off the bright orange shirt, which fluttered down onto the dark gray rock, a brilliant splash of color in the early afternoon sun. He glanced at 'Chele who was watching him with an enigmatic look on her face, then took a second to steel himself for the coming shock before running straight at the cliff edge and jumping off. "Yee-haa!" echoed off the rock walls as he fell 15 feet to hit the water with an incredible splash.

Once past the top few feet of sun-warmed water the temperature dropped dramatically and he had to force himself not to try and suck in air in reaction. Once his downward momentum ceased he swam back towards the surface, the sunlight glittering on the surface the clear water guiding him back to air, warmth and life. Breaking the surface he was careful to not yelp or shout due to the chilling aftereffects of the deeper water that his feet were still slowing moving through. The temp change was sudden and took place about waist deep on him, leaving the lower half of his body trying to shiver while the rest was content to bask in the heated layer at the top. 

He rotated about as cheers and shouts from the beach caught his attention. There weren't too many kids that liked going off the top ledge and it always drew a reaction just to credit the jumper with the obvious insanity they suffered from. A pointed hand motion from Pizza made Darien frown momentarily and then turn back around. He slid onto his back to more easily gaze up at Michele, who, as he had expected, was standing at the edge of the cliff watching him. With lazy strokes he backed out of range so that she would have more than enough room to jump once he convinced her. And he had no doubts that he would indeed persuade her.

"Come on, it's great," he shouted as the lower sections of his anatomy sank back into the deeper water and tried to curl up to get away from the cold.

"You're nuts," she called back down, her voice echoing slightly off the curve of walls and seeming to come at him from all directions.

"Yeah, and how is this anything new?" He was pleased beyond all measure when she laughed and shook her head. "Jump on in. Trust me." When she began removing the t-shirt and shorts to reveal the skimpy black bikini she was wearing beneath he knew he'd conned her. Of course he also knew she was going to severely injure him once she came up for air, so he prepared to make a mad dash for shore once she hit the water.

She backed away until out of sight and then a moment later came at a full run at the edge of the cliff. She timed it perfectly, launched herself into the air and smoothly into a somersault, reminding Darien that she'd been on the dive team back in high school. She hit the water at a near perfect angle, causing only the barest of splashes as she slipped under the water. 

On the beach the cheers began again while Darien tread water waiting for her to surface. When she did it was with a gasp and shout that turned the cheers to laughter. "Darien," she bellowed as she spun about looking for him.

"Oh crap," he muttered and began swimming for shore even though he knew that once she had determined punishment needed to be meted out nothing would stop her. He'd watched her plan revenge on her twin and patiently wait a week before executing it. He was dead meat.

He'd only made it about halfway to shore when he felt her hand grasp his ankle and pull more than hard enough to drag him under. Like an idiot he tried to grab some air, but was an instant to late and managed to gulp down half a lungful of water. He coughed, trying to clear his lungs and just barely stopped himself from trying to draw in yet more water and kicked hard to the surface. Belatedly he realized she was no longer holding onto him as he broke past the surface choking and spluttering.

'Chele appeared a few feet away aiming a deadly glare at him and not seeming to care in the least that he'd yet to get any real air back into his lungs. She patiently treaded water as he convinced his body to stop misbehaving and finally succeeded in catching his breath. 

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I think so. Being reminded I'm not amphibious," Darien answered, hoping to inspire a smile or maybe the beginnings of forgiveness. Instead, he saw this glint in her eye that boded ill for his continued existence as a male of the species. "'Chele..."

"I would highly suggest that you swim." And she was gone, back under the surface and he damn well knew she could swim circles about him any day of the week.

With a mental curse at John for convincing him to pull this practical joke on her, Darien got horizontal and swam for all he was worth. He made it closer to the shore when he was dragged under again; he was surprised with how easily she was able to find the leverage to do so. This time he got all the air he needed and, instead of fighting her grip, folded himself and got a hand on her wrist.

She tried to pull away, but Darien simply allowed her to pull him down to her level where the warm water was nothing but a memory and darkness encroached as the light failed to penetrate with any power. Once he was in range he used the one weapon he had and tickled her.

All her air left in a rush and she squirmed to try and get away from him, but he held on and continued his exploitation of her weakness for a few more seconds before releasing her. Admittedly he was becoming increasingly in need of air himself and once she had kicked towards the light he followed her, popping up less than a foot away and sucking in much needed air. "Truce," he called out when it looked like she was about to dive under again.

"That was nasty. This water is beyond cold," she complained, splashing him with deadly accuracy and timing, which caused him to inhale a fair amount of the spray.

"Sorry," he got out as he choked, bobbed under for a second, and then finally sucked in some real air as he resurfaced. "It's a tradition. Had it done to me my first summer here." Damn, he did not want her angry with him. Not now. Not when this might be their last summer together.

"I figured based on the crowds' appreciation." She sent another wave of water at him. "You set me up."

"I conned you," he countered soun,ding slightly smug about it.

"Yeah, I got that part," she groused and Darien knew he had to turn her mood around quickly.

"Gotta admit given your professed skill at observation that you would have figured that a lake formed by an underground stream wouldn't get all that warm." He pointed out a wry tone and watched as her eyes flashed with anger before a hint of a frown crossed her features.

"True enough, but I seemed to recall you saying 'trust me' and now I'm wondering why I ever should again." She made it plain she was truly hurt by his using her trust in him for something as petty as a prank.

"Shit," he muttered. He'd gotten so used to trust being nothing more than a word to throw out as persuasion that he'd forgotten there were some people that actually _did_ trust him. The prank probably wouldn't have bothered her quite so much if he hadn't tossed those words out. It was no wonder she capitulated so easily, he'd expected it require far more fast-talking on his part. "'Chele," Reaching out he set a hand on her shoulder, which she thankfully didn't shrug off. "You can trust me, I swear it. Sometimes I think you're the only one who ever has. That," He waved back at the jump off spot, "that was me being an idiot. Forgive me?"

"Would you two just kiss and make up for god's sake." Was shouted at full volume by the instigator of this whole mess, one John Pizzetti, who might not be alive for much longer if the thoughts running through Darien's mind were acted upon.

"Oh crap," Darien whispered, blushing in total embarrassment. "Ignore him." 

'Chele surprised him by suddenly smiling and saying a soft voice, "I dare you."

Darien froze for all of a millisecond and then, justifying it in the back of his mind with the fact that she had _dared_ him to do this, cupped her face with both hands and did what he'd wanted to do for months, if not years, and kissed her. 

Whatever he might have imagined would happen the first time he kissed 'Chele, it was nothing compared to the reality. It was electric, her lips soft, sweet beneath his and what he'd intended to be no more than a swift brushing of lips, more brotherly than anything else, became something far different and definitely had little to do with _brotherly_ feelings.

'_Oh, damn_,' was his last coherent thought as her mouth opened slightly, her tongue flicking his lips with soft strokes that made him groan in reaction. He slid one hand back into her hair, for a change not feeling reluctant to act on his urge to play with her curls.

Wanting to taste her, he opened his mouth and permitted her to capture the tip of his tongue between her teeth and suck it gently into her mouth. Damn, she was sweet, like fresh picked raspberries, warm and fully ripened in the summer sun.

It was the sudden need for air impinging on his awareness that ended the moment. He broke away to discover they had sunk beneath the surface while distracted by their intimate meeting. He bobbed up and sucked in air, all the while wishing he was still beneath the water with 'Chele. Speaking of which... "'Chele?"

"Yes?" she said from behind him as she set her hands on his shoulders.

She was amazingly calm; as if nothing of importance had just happened, whereas if it wasn't for the fact his lower half was entrapped in icy cold water he'd be unable to leave the lake for quite some time due to a very natural reaction. He wanted to turn about and take her in his arms and find out if it was a one time fluke or if they really had succeeding in making each other forget they needed air to survive. However, catcalls and hoots coming from the beach some including commentary involving 'getting a room' spurred him towards another course of action.

Turning his head slightly he motioned for her to move closer and she did, pressed up against his back, arms wrapped loosely about his neck and trusting him to keep them afloat. "I think Pizza is enjoying this far too much. What say we arrange for him to go for a swim?"

"I take it this is the John I keep hearing about, the one you seem to be in a never ending competition with for master prankster?" 'Chele asked with humor tingeing her words.

Darien blushed slightly. "Uh, yeah. He would be the culprit."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" She gave him a slight shove and moments later they were swimming for shore.

***

The last of the cake lay smeared on the foil cover cardboard, little more than crumbs and bits of frosting remaining behind. Darien leaned back against the table sipping _Coca-Cola_ from a can slick with moisture from the cooler it had been residing in as he watched 'Chele talking to the twins Christian and Tristan. It seemed she had little difficulty telling them apart.

The sun would be going down in about an hour and he was looking forward to the bonfire that had been planned, though that was far more an end of the school year tradition than having anything to do with is birthday. This year the events just happened to get combined. He had to admit this was turning out to be one of his best birthdays ever; the gifts maybe a touch more sentimental than in the past, but since he was heading off for San Diego in a little over the month he wasn't all that surprised. So far it had been mostly books from the gals and from the guys far more humorous stuff, gag gifts that Darien knew, were the male version of saying they were gonna miss him. For the first time he was realizing he'd be missing them as well. 'Chele's small gift sat off to one side, Darien, perhaps unconsciously, leaving it for last.

"Come on, Fawkesy, open mine," John all but whined for the third time.

"All right already." Darien turned about, set the soda down and reached for the square box. "Acting like you got the frickin' Hope diamond in here or something," he grumbled as he shook the box lightly and listened for any sound the contents might make.

Removing the brightly colored paper with _Happy Birthday_ written on it in several languages, he wiggled the top of the box and slid it up and off to reveal... Darien's heart jumped up roughly a foot and lodged firmly in his throat.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think beyond the sudden mind numbing realization that there were _spiders_ crawling quickly out of the box and across the table and up his arms and.... 

Next thing Darien knew he was sitting on the ground, a high pitched keening grating on his hearing, his heart was pounding hard enough in his chest to make the muscles ache and he couldn't seem to recall if he'd drawn in a breath recently.

He heard shouted, "Get me some ice wrapped in a towel now!" and then what felt like someone touching him but he could seem to connect the sensations to their meanings. "Dare, talk to me. You're safe. The spiders are gone." Then there cold on the back of his neck and he shuddered, his entire body quaking with it.

"What happened?" Some small part of Darien recognized the voice as Mr. Williams, one of the local sheriffs and Janice's father.

"He went fugue thanks to _someone_ triggering his phobia." 'Chele, he now knew it was 'Chele sitting next to him, snarled as she held the jury-rigged ice pack against the back of his neck, the fingers of her other hand resting lightly against his wrist.

Just about everyone spoke up and placed the blame right where it belonged, squarely on John's shoulders. 

Mrs. Grady showed up then, Francine's mom, who was a nurse and proceeded to examine Darien with the correct equipment while 'Chele did her best to soothe and calm him.

"John..." Mr. Williams began only to be cut off by protests from the accused.

"It was just a joke. A joke." John looked about at his friends his eyes locking with 'Chele's for a long instant before continuing on. "So spiders give him the heebie-jeebies, how was I supposed to know he'd go totally freakazoid?"

"You idiot," 'Chele hissed, her grip momentarily tightening about Darien's wrist. "He's phobic, if you can possibly comprehend what that means."

"Obviously I'm nowhere near as smart as _you_. Why don't you explain it to me?" was the snide comeback.

"You could have killed him. You know, as in _scared to death_." 'Chele said in a flat tone of voice. She turned away from John with a look of total disgust on her face to find Darien meeting her eyes. He shifted his grip to hold her hand, their fingers twining together. He found himself needing to hold on, wanting the comfort, the connection back to reality.

"Is that true?" John asked in total confusion.

"Yes," Mrs. Grady answered as she set the stethoscope's diaphragm on Darien's chest and listened.

"Shit," John mumbled heedless of the parents nearby. "Is ...is he gonna be okay?"

"He should be," 'Chele told him, still sounding quite upset to Darien's ears. "Dare?"

"Yeah, Truth?" He was surprised at the amount of worry he could see in her eyes. Looking about he realized he was at the far end of the beach, a good quarter-mile from the picnic area where he'd opened the damn box. He shuddered again, not wanting to remember, to feel the legs of the... the... "Crap," he got out at a strained whisper.

"Don't you dare. Stay with me." She squeezed his hand, giving him something to grasp onto other than the memory that would probably drive him back into that fogged state where those horrible creatures couldn't get him. 

He nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm okay. I think." He turned to look at Mrs. Grady, whom he'd known for years. "Sorry about this."

"Darien, don't worry about it. I want you to sit and relax for a few more minutes; your blood pressure is still too high. A penlight appeared from nowhere and she grasped Darien's chin to shine it in his eyes making him blink and try to pull away in reaction. "Hmm, still not back to normal. Wait here." Patting him on the arm, she got to her feet and headed back to the picnic area.

There was the sound of a throat being violently cleared and Darien leaned about Michele to see Pizza standing there staring at his feet. "Look man, I'm sorry. It was just a joke, I didn't think you..."

"Forget it, man. We're cool." Darien would get pissed off about it later, after he had the chance to cool down. Besides, he wasn't quite sure if he could stand at the moment and was definitely in no shape to chase after John to beat some sense into him. Then he turned his attention back to Michele. "And, no, I don't want you to hurt him."

She laughed with a touch of bitterness buried within it. "If you say so."

"I do." His free hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone; something he would never have done as recently as this morning. "Sorry if I scared you."

"Scared me? Darien..." She shook her head, plainly changing her mind about what she wanted to say. "You want to head home? You are gonna feel like serious crap in about 20 minutes."

"And miss the bonfire? No way." Darien tugged on a curl making her bat his hand away. "I'll take it easy. Much rather sit here with you anyhow." He was pleased with the blush and shy smile it got in reaction.

"You did scare me, Dare," she said so softly that he just barely heard her. 

"I'm fine. Just keep the spiders away and there'll be no more problems. Okay?" He pulled her close, wrapping his arms about her, not knowing if this newfound closeness would last beyond this evening, this moment, and wanting to savor it while it lasted.

Catching sight of Mrs. Grady returning he encouraged 'Chele to sit up. No need for parental gossip to travel faster than necessary. "Hey Mrs. G. Sorry for the excitement."

"Darien, at least for a change it wasn't your fault." She crouched down next to the pair, handed Darien a bottle of electrolyte drink, which she encouraged him to sip at while she took his vitals again. A few minutes later she pronounced him better, but to take it easy for a while yet. Although he didn't realize it, he'd put quite a strain on his body with his reaction and didn't need to add any more.

A bit shakily he walked back to the picnic area and joined the crowd gathering around the slowly building fire. 'Chele scampered off and returned with the blanket, which they settled on. Darien sat behind her, his legs drawn up slightly and arms draped casually about her neck, making it plain that while they had been no more than friends when they arrived they were most definitely something more now. 


	5. Chapter 5

***

The sound of humming wafting in through his open bedroom window was an astonishingly pleasant sound to wake up to. Aunt Celia must be out working in her garden again, taking advantage of another beautiful summer day. Stretching out his full length, his feet hanging off the end of the bed that he'd outgrown the year before, he tried to avoid waking up too much and, as he relaxed, curled up on his side, dragging one of the pillows over to bury his face in. He inhaled deeply, the subtle sent of 'Chele's shampoo still clinging to the cotton of the pillowcase from a couple days ago when they'd hung out playing cards and talking about nothing in particular for an evening.

The last few days had been interesting to say the least. He and 'Chele had been spending most of their time together, much like always, goofing off at the lake or hanging out in town with his friends, who had, for the most part, accepted her without reservation. Her unfailing gregariousness made it difficult for even the most jealous of the girls to feel threatened by her. Especially since, though she might join in with the playful flirting, she was most definitely interested in only one person and, much to Darien's astonishment, it continued to be himself.

Overall things really hadn't changed all that much between them, both of them had always been very tactile with their relationship, though it had been mainly reserved for quiet moments alone, whereas now they were a bit more open about it, at least when Peter and Celia weren't about. Darien had this vague concern that his aunt and uncle would do their best to discourage a romantic relationship between himself and 'Chele. He'd run through all the potential arguments and reasons, from her being three years older than him, the fact that he'd just turned 17, that they would be going their separate ways in a few weeks, and discovered he didn't care. He'd much rather have this time with her than let it pass by. Kissing her had become his favorite pastime, much to the annoyance of his friends, but since most of them were paired off as well, they couldn't complain too much.

Then there was yesterday when he'd finally screwed up his courage and been bold enough to move beyond just kissing her, which ultimately made for a very restless night's sleep until he'd finally given up about 3 AM and taken the matter in hand... so to speak. It being summer and all, provided he completed his chores, he didn't have any worries about having to get up early, unless he chose to. And most mornings he chose to sleep in, the cool evening breezes being far more conducive to getting in a little quality necking time that the bright daylight hours were.

He was actually surprised at how... talented she was. She'd never mentioned any boyfriends at college, which he had found a bit odd, as he'd been quite open about his relationships, often consulting her when he found himself completely at a loss to understand the female of the species. He'd been detailing to her, if in somewhat vague terms, exactly how far several of his relationships had gone over the last year. Hell, she'd even met Samantha over Christmas break and accepted her with the same laid back take it at face value attitude she used to deal with life in general. It had been Darien who'd been having licentious thoughts about his best friend back then, even as he asked 'Chele for help picking out a Christmas gift for Samantha.

Darien figured 'Chele was like Kevin when at school, focused solely on the work and eschewing anything even vaguely resembling the non-academic, meaning she chose not to get involved with anyone. Darien chuckled softly; very glad he had been wrong on that count. 'Chele had this trick she could do with her tongue that could keep him distracted for long minutes and usually begging for more, much to her amusement and there was no way in hell she had learned that in some dusty book or in the depths of some poorly-lit lab.

He suddenly found himself feeling far more awake than he really wanted to be and in need of a shower, a cold one by preference, his body was reacting to thoughts of 'Chele as it always seemed to lately. Throwing off the covers with a muttered curse he grabbed clean clothes from his bureau and headed to the bathroom to get himself fit for facing the rest of the world, or at least his small corner of it.

A good 30 minutes later he tripped lightly down the stairs, humming the very tune he'd heard earlier and debating where to drag 'Chele off to today -- after breakfast, of course, as his stomach reminded him that food would be a necessity prior to any sort of fun happening. He stopped short of the bottom when he heard voices, Michele's and Uncle Pete's, and caught sight of them walking up the hallway next to the staircase and towards the office.

"Pete, I have no one else to turn to at this point. Bad enough the funky test results mangled two projects and raised a few eyebrows, but the more recent ones..." Darien could hear the frustration in her voice, even as he silently backed up a few steps to remain unseen by them. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Darien ducked down low, watching them carefully through the spindles of the banister. Pete set a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing, Michele, I swear there is nothing _wrong_ with you."

"So you do know something." 'Chele sounded far more relieved than angry. 

"Know? Not really, but I've pieced together a few things, as I am quite sure you have." Peter waved her into the office and swung the door to shut it, but not quite hard enough, leaving standing open a couple of inches. 

Moving as stealthily as he could on his bare feet Darien tip-toed down the remaining steps, making sure to avoid the one that always creaked, and over to the doorway. Parking himself on the open side he did his best to block out the ambient noise and focus on the voices within.

"...something to do with my parents' theories, I know that much. The rat testing was very successful and we were ready to try the Phase II drug when Killegan went all klutzy again and nailed me with it." From the sound of it 'Chele was pacing the breadth of the room, her feet making no more than a whisper of noise on the hard wood floor. "We designed it specifically for the rats, DNA serotype matched and everything just in case something like this happened. And yet, I reacted to it. Hell, I did more than react. I responded as if I'd gone through Phase I just like the rats had."

"Which effect were you seeking in the rats?" Peter asked, his tone a combination of curiosity and serious.

"Intelligence. Most of which is effected by the Phase I drug, however the data suggested that the Phase II drug, administered at the equivalent of puberty would dramatically increase the potential." 'Chele's restless motions ceased for the moment. "It worked. We've bred two generations since, paired two Phase II, one Phase II and a control... you know the routine. The intelligence gets passed on with little or no dilution provided at least one parent receives the Phase I treatment. Not the Phase II, the Phase I."

"Damn," Peter muttered so softly that Darien just barely heard it. "How intelligent?"

Chele gave off a harsh bark of laughter. "Very. They teach each other. They have no language we can interpret; yet they teach each other."

"Secondary effects. ESP," Peter stated with a touch of awe in his voice. "They, your parents, said it was possible. No one really wanted to believe..." There was a pause and the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier and somehow Darien knew that this conversation was something he shouldn't be hearing, but he could not seem to tear himself away. "'Chele..."

"Yeah," she agreed, though to what Darien had no idea. "Everything is pointing that way for the rats. We'll probably have to destroy them soon. You'd not believe the cage we had to build for them. They're _that_ smart."

"Understandable. If they were to get out into the population at large..." Peter let the sentence hang, and even Darien, who did not quite fully comprehend the discussion, had gotten enough to discern the hazard of intelligent rats out in the real world and breeding. It'd be the movie _Ben_, only for real this time.

"So where does that leave me, Pete? If the lab rats are that big a danger, what about me?" Darien heard the sound of papers being rifled through before she continued. "I can't even figure out what the hell this is or what it's doing to me, but I do know there's nearly twice as much in my bloodstream since I got stuck with the Phase II serum." Darien heard her sigh heavily, almost with what sounded like a sob escaping at the end. "I'm scared, Pete."

"Michele," The sound of his uncle's heavier footsteps drew nearer and Darien flattened himself against the wall, knowing he'd be in for it if caught eavesdropping, more so for this confusing and somehow frightening conversation, "I'll tell you what I know." There was click as the door shut, Peter having finally realized it was still open. They continued speaking, but the words were now too muffled for him to hear and Darien sagged against the wall, worry twisting his guts and removing any trace of the hunger that had been there mere moments before.

Pushing away, he headed towards the kitchen anyway; at the very least he could sit at the table and mull what he'd overheard, perhaps make some sense out of it. Something beyond that 'Chele was sick. Thinking about it, he had to wonder if those headaches of hers were some symptom of a more serious illness that she hadn't told him about. "Crap." he mumbled as he entered the kitchen to see his Aunt Celia placing some fresh cut flowers in a vase.

"Darien, good morning. You're up early." She gave him a cheery smile that did little to brighten the dark clouds that currently swirled through his mind.

Not wanting to worry her, he sidled over and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "The lovely music coming from the backyard woke me," he told her.

"Oh you," she scoffed. "Care to give an old lady some help?"

Needing something to distract him from what would be sure to become dank and depressing thoughts Darien nodded. "Sure. Whatcha need?"

Celia set the vase on the kitchen table, made a few minute adjustments to some of the blooms and looked over her shoulder at Darien. "Are you feeling well, dear?"

"Yep, just thought it'd be nice to spend some time with you before the summer was over and I'm gone," Darien said off the top of his head and was surprised to find the statement true enough.

"Good. I'll put those muscles of yours to good use, young man." Celia reached over and pinched Darien's biceps to emphasize her words and making him blush in reaction.

"Celia..."

She laughed lightly and led the way out the back door and into the yard.

***

The late afternoon breeze was heavy with moisture, the heat and humidity skyrocketing as the hours dragged on. The subtle sound of an ice cube popping in the glass sitting on the dark green grass was audible over the buzzing drone of insects going about their daily routine, the sound almost sleepy in the oppressive heat. The trees in the heavily shaded corner of the yard keeping the oversized hammock and its occupant relatively cool even as it swayed slightly with every small movement he made.

Turning the page Darien continued his absorbed reading of the beat up copy of the _Great Dialogues of Plato_ he had gotten from the library earlier in the day, after seeing the note from Uncle Pete that he and Michele were heading to the hospital to see Dr. Anthony. Darien had even forgone getting into some pre-Fourth of July mischief with Pizza simply because he wasn't in the mood. His worry about 'Chele had cranked up another notch when he found out she was off visiting the man who was one of Uncle Peter's best friends.

Pizza had accused Darien of spending his time with 'Chele and ignoring all his friends to play footsie with some _girl _just cause he was getting laid regular-like, which _wasn't_ true. Pizza had been forced to swallow those words when he ran into Darien on his way home from the library quite noticeably without Michele. One advantage of a small town was that pretty much everything was in walking distance. The walk had also offered Darien some minor distraction from his concerns, but not quite enough. Even Celia had realized he was brooding over something beyond the usual teenaged angst and traumas and, after Darien politely refused her offer to talk it over, had left him pretty much to himself.

One hand absently swiped at the trickle of sweat that ran down across his temple to tickle his cheek before he turned the page. He'd already made it through _Ion_ and _Meno_, and was currently trying to absorb _Symposium_ when a soft voice intruded. 

"Feel up for some company?" 

Darien glanced up from the page to see 'Chele leaning against the tree near his feet. Looking her over he could see she was tired and unhappy, small bandages over cotton balls lay in the crooks of both elbows and attested to the fact that Dr. Anthony had done more than just talk to her. He suddenly felt angry at her for not at least letting him know that she'd planned on spending the day with his uncle, that she was possibly suffering from some mysterious illness, or even worse from cancer or something and might not have much time left. His jaw clenching he forced his eyes back to the page and gave every appearance of not giving a damn what she did.

Almost as if she could read his mind 'Chele said, "Sorry about bailing on you, but once we started talking things just snowballed. I certainly hadn't planned spending an hour in an MRI machine."

Darien's anger cracked, but he still stared at the book, though he was unable to focus his eyes and the words remained unread. "'Chele, how... how sick are you?"

She sighed heavily and turned, her back now against the rough bark of the tree, her head tipped up to stare at the canopy of leaves above her. "I'm not. Not like how you're thinking anyway. Which is why I wanted to talk to Pete about it."

Giving up his attempt at disinterest, he let the book flop onto his chest and ran a hand through his hair. "Does this have anything to do with those migraines you've been getting?" Though she failed to meet his eyes she did nod. Something clicked then, a connection he should have made before. "Like when you were 13, those migraines?" He hadn't noticed her getting severely bloodshot eyes like back then, but then again, he wasn't around her 24/7, or she could have been on medication to keep it under control.

She snorted softly. "See, you are smart, but no. Or rather, not exactly."

Shifting to the far side of the hammock he patted the space he'd made. "Come on." With a small nod she pushed away from the tree and joined him, though not lying beside him. Instead, she settled crosswise, her legs dangling off the edge and her head resting on his stomach. Moving her legs back and forth, she started the hammock swinging gently. "Talk to me, 'Chele."

"Nothin' to talk about really. I am in no way gonna do something like drop dead on you. Far as we can tell I'm perfectly healthy, just... weird. The tests were more as a second opinion than anything else."

"Don't mean I ain't gonna worry," Darien grumbled softly, his right hand snaking down to rest on her stomach where her halter-top had ridden up so that it lay on bare, surprisingly cool, flesh.

"I know, but try not to worry too much. I promise I'd tell you if it were anything serious." 'Chele tipped her head to the side to meet his eyes and he was shocked at how tired they looked.

"I'm gonna hold you to that." He allowed his fingers to wander randomly across her stomach, not quite light enough to tickle; somehow he knew she was not in the mood for play. "Tired?"

"Unbelievably," she responded, the syllables conveying exactly how tired she was. "We have plans this evening, right? Someone you wanted me to meet?"

Darien wasn't sure why he was surprised she hadn't forgotten his tentatively made plans of the day before and instantly decided that tonight was not the right time to introduce 'Chele to Liz. There might never be a good time for that and, while part of him wanted very much for 'Chele to approve of Liz and vice versa, he was beginning to realize it wouldn't happen. Oh, 'Chele wouldn't say one thing against Liz, not directly, but Liz... Liz would have definite issues with sweet and innocent-seeming 'Chele and there would be little chance of him mediating a middle ground between them. It was simpler to forget the entire idea. "Yeah, but it's not important."

"You sure?" she asked, her hand finding his and resting lightly atop it.

"Quite sure. We'll just hang out here this evening. I figure we'll find something to do." He placed just the right amount of emphasis on the latter words so that she would understand his meaning and she chuckled softly, making his entire body vibrate with it. "Unless you're not interested, of course."

Rolling over she slithered up, shoving the book aside, until her chin was resting on his sternum. "Very interested, smartass."

He curled his arms about her, sliding them under her shirt; almost able to count her prominent ribs with his fingers she because was so damn skinny. "Ah, you like me this way, remember?"

"Always." She laid her head down and sighed softly. "I want to thank you, Dare."

"Thank me? For what?" His fingers continued their wanderings, tracing the outline of her spine vertebra by vertebra.

"For convincing me to not switch schools and sticking with my major," she explained, her voice growing soft as her body relaxed under his gentle ministrations. "You were right. It's what I love and I shouldn't let anything keep me from it."

Darien didn't feel it was something he deserved thanks for; he'd done nothing more than repeat words she'd told him time and time again back at her. "Wow, I was right about something. Can I get that on tape as evidence?" 

"Sure. Anytime," she mumbled, the day's events plainly having tired her out more than even she had realized.

Darien smiled at her, an odd thrill rushing through him, as exactly how much she trusted him sank in. Moving one hand slowly he picked up the book and returned to his reading of Plato.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: If you wish to read the NC-17 version please head on over to the _Quicksilver Database_, where you can find all my altiverse stories in the _Cassandra Project_ section.

***

July 1985

"Are you sure you two will be okay? Celia asked yet again, as Peter carried her bags towards the door. "I hate leaving you two alone for the holiday..."

"We'll be fine," Darien assured her for the fifth time. It wasn't like the Fourth of July was a big deal in this town, especially not on a weekday. Most businesses were still open for the day, he wasn't interested in the parade and the town's cheesy fireworks display wasn't for hours yet. "'Chele's been living on her own for years and its not like you haven't left me home alone before."

"I seem to recall the last time we went to visit Kevin you ended up spending the weekend in jail, thanks to that Liz Morgan," Peter commented dryly from the doorway.

Darien looked down, suddenly finding the cracks between the floorboards a fascinating study and shuffled his feet a bit. "I remember." He glanced over at 'Chele who was sitting on the steps watching the proceedings in silence.

"No! Michele will not be responsible for your actions. You make the wrong choice and only you will deal with the consequences." Peter's voice was firm, but lacking any anger. "Do you understand me?"

Darien's head came up to meet his uncle's eyes without flinching and he stood up straight as he responded, "Yes, sir." He had no plans on screwing up his last few weeks here in Cold Springs as he in no way wanted to risk losing his scholarship or ruining his chances at college.

"All right, we've left you cash for pizza or what have you," Celia reminded Darien needlessly. "And you know where the emergency money is." She raised a finger to wag at him. "No parties...."

"No friends over, no long distance phone calls, I remember." Darien gave her a lopsided grin. "I promise."

Celia eyed Darien carefully and seemed to determine that, for a change, he was being sincere instead of doing his best to give her a convincing lie. "Be careful."

'Chele got to her feet and moved to stand in front of Celia. "Celia, go. Let Kevin show you all the great things he's done. The house'll still be standing when you get back."

Celia sighed. "I know, Shelly, but that doesn't mean I won't worry. I wish we could have scheduled this better," she muttered and then gave them a smile before looking over at Peter who was tapping a finger on his thigh. "We'll be back late morning Saturday - that's the day after tomorrow."

"Celia," Peter said with some impatience, "we don't want to miss our flight."

"Yes dear." She gave Darien and 'Chele each a quick hug and then walked out the door, the relief on Peter's face obvious as he hefted the bags and shut the door behind him.

Darien bounced over to the door and slid the curtain on the narrow window aside to watch them walk to their car. As soon as his uncle got behind the wheel Darien released the curtain, spun about and rushed 'Chele who backed away laughing until she was partway up the staircase, which was where Darien finally managed to get his hands on her. Since she was standing a couple steps higher they were practically eye to eye and he curved an arm about her so he could pull her close, making her squeal in delight.

"You could at least wait until they get down the street," she giggled even as one of her hands threaded its way through his hair.

"Don' wanna," was the muffled response, his face buried in the hollow of her throat. With a small amount of encouragement he shifted her until she was lying on the stairs beneath him, both her hands now tangled in his hair as he made his way down the conveniently placed vee of her shirt at the same time as he slid the strap off her shoulder.

"Glad to know I can inspire such enthusiasm," she sighed as she arched up towards him.

Darien froze, uncertainty suddenly rushing to the fore, and rolling off her, he slid back along the step to lean against the spindles of the banister. "Sorry,"

'Chele levered herself up a look of complete confusion on her face. "Darien, what did I do wrong?"

He ran a hand through his hair while gathering his thoughts. The last few days, with her spending the mornings locked away with his uncle, which, he admittedly slept through for the most part, and the rest of the day with himself, had been confusing for him. He'd begun to wonder exactly why she'd allowed this... this relationship to happen. For, while his heart was aching to touch her, she seemed to be treating the whole thing like it was nothing of great importance, and to him it was. He certainly didn't want to be nothing more than some summer fling to be enjoyed while it happened and then later forgotten. When he finally spoke his words were harsh and full of the pain and confusion he was feeling. "Guess I must seem rather childish compared to the other guys you've been with."

"Okay, I'm going to assume all the blood rushing downward is causing the synapses in your brain to misfire." Darien's head snapped up in time to see her stand and storm down the steps, her bare feet slapping the bare wood in counterpoint to her irritation.

"Crap," Darien snarled and after spending a moment fighting with himself, went after her. He caught up with her just as she was walking out the kitchen door and onto the back porch. "'Chele wait." His voice cracked on her name, his emotions leaking into his words.

She stopped, but didn't turn around to look at him. "I don't deserve that from you. Especially when I damn well know exactly how many girls you've been with in the last year and I can guarantee you its far more than the number of guys I've been with." Her voice was soft, hurt.

"No, you don't." He leaned against the post and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. "Can you forgive me?"

With a sigh she went to him, set her hands on his hips and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Just stop thinking you're too young for me or not good enough or the half dozen other manufactured worries you've managed to come up with. Shoot, for a while there I was wondering if you'd ever get the hint."

Darien hands, which had found their way out of his pockets to run lightly up and down her back, stopped moving. "Wha... What?"

'Chele tipped her head up to look at him. "You heard me. I figured you weren't interested."

"Not interested? Girl, you've been driving me crazy for years." Darien was amazed at how easy it was to say those words, to finally tell her the truth.

"Then I guess you owe John one, don't ya?" she questioned with a grin.

"Nah, if someone hadn't dared me I never would have taken the chance," Darien responded softly and grinned when she blushed.

"Well, if I'd known it would be that easy..." Darien cut off her words by using the best weapon in his arsenal and kissed her, groaning softly. His hands came up to cup her face even as he ran his tongue across her lips to request entrance, which she eagerly granted. Picking up where he'd left off on the staircase, he slipped the strap of her snug-fitting tank top off her shoulder and down her arm. She moaned as his hand shifted to explore the newly revealed flesh.

She broke the kiss; her head tipping back as she arched into his hand. "Damn it, Dare."

He chuckled as he continued caressing her, one hand set behind her back for support. "Problem?"

"Only if you consider givin' your neighbors a free show a problem," she muttered as she slid her hands under his shirttail and along the edge of his low-slung shorts.

"Watch it there," he warned, his voice tight. It was unlikely she hadn't noticed his very natural and uncontrollable reaction. "Unless you want to give them a _real_ show."

"Hmm, tempting." Actions suiting words, her fingers hooked inside his waistband and tugged gently. 

"Don't start something you ain't gonna finish," Darien hissed, his hands shifting quickly to set atop hers, but without moving them away.

Wiggling her fingers, Darien sucked in a breath as he tried to maintain some sort of control. "And who says I'm starting anything?" she teased. 

He was debating the merits of talking her into going inside and spending the day lazing about with far fewer clothes on when a car went rumbling down the street out front, its speakers blaring, "_Relax don't do it, when you want to suck it to it. Relax don't do it, when you want to come._" for the entire neighborhood to hear.

'Chele began to giggle. "I didn't know my life came with a soundtrack."

At her words, Darien broke out into laughter finding the timing of the song more than amusing. Finding his legs still unsteady, he slid down the post until sitting on the top step.

'Chele sank down behind him and wrapped her arms about his neck. "Could be worse I suppose, could have been that circus music." She hummed a few bars, which made Darien laugh even harder. "I like it when you're happy, D."

"Well, you do seem to have some influence in that area." He reached up and curled his hands about hers. What he wanted to do next involved getting her quite horizontal, but he somehow knew she was more than content to just sit here like this for the rest of the day. The only thing she'd mentioned wanting to do on this so-called holiday was to watch the fireworks later. "Any ideas for how to kill the day?"

"Ummm, maybe a picnic at the lake? Too damn hot for much else. I wish this heat wave would break," she mumbled the last into his hair, as she pressed her head up against him and sent little tingles of pleasure down his spine.

"Everyone's gonna be at the lake today, I wanna do something just for us." He mulled for a few minutes while she took her time exploring the back of his neck and shoulders with her teeth and tongue. He thought up and tossed away a good dozen ideas before he realized he'd not yet fulfilled his end of their mutual corruption bargain for this visit. Over the years he'd taught her how to pick locks, use the standard burglary tools, crack a safe with little more than a flashlight and a deft touch, which she had in spades, and run some basic cons, like the shell and card games. This was the perfect time to teach her something new and a bit more ambitious.

"Feel up to a bit of a drive?"

"Define 'a bit'," she requested, her chin settling on his shoulder.

"I wanna head into Sacramento. We can still have a picnic and we'll catch the big fireworks display instead of the crappy one here." He turned sideways so that he could look at her. Several emotions warred with each other on her face, in her eyes, but she finally settled on curiosity mixed with wariness.

"And? I know you, Darien, there's gotta be another reason you want to make a three hour drive." She sat back, her turn to lean against the post.

Darien shrugged. "Time for your next lesson."

Her look brightened instantly. "Really, what this time?"

He tapped her on the nose, trying not to grin at her unabashed enthusiasm. "The fine art of casing a place."

***

The deep bass rumble rattled the window in its frame and forced wakefulness on the lean figure lying on the bed; with a sharp jerk he went from horizontal and completely relaxed in a deep sleep to sitting up and wide awake, his heart pounding at the sudden rush of adrenaline through his system. His eyes darted about in shock, still not having quite realized he was indeed awake until a bright flash of light outside followed quickly by another window-ratting boom gave him the connection he needed. With a muttered curse, he slumped slightly and scrubbed his face with his hands before looking over at the clock on his nightstand.

It was just after 10am though the thick dark clouds and driving rain outside made it appear to be that deep pre-dawn gloom. Getting up he walked to the window and slid it shut, thankful the rain was been driven against the front of the house, else his floor would be soaked. "Guess you got your wish 'Chele, the heat wave broke." Yawning and scratching the back of his head he shuffled out of his room and too the bathroom to get minimally human. 

They'd gotten back just before 3am, the traffic after the fireworks had been far worse that he'd thought it would be. Worth it though, the entire day had been a blast as they wandered through randomly chosen stores, office buildings and hotels in the city while he gave her the basics of how to spot even the subtlest electronic security or plainclothes security guards. By the time they were ready to call it quits and go enjoy that picnic they'd packed, she'd been well on her way to mastering a new skill and, though horribly tempted, he refrained from talking her into pulling a small heist he and Liz had been considering.

Heading downstairs, he went directly to the kitchen. Now, that he was conscious he was in need of vast quantities of food, and was not surprised to find 'Chele already awake. She stood at the open back door and visibly flinched as another bolt of lightning momentarily brightened the gloom. The crack of thunder followed almost immediately, the screen door rattling against the frame.

"Well, at least the heat wave went out with a bang," Darien commented.

'Chele turned about with a smile as she rubbed her head. "Noise finally wake you?"

"Yep." He went to the pantry, perusing the offerings that he'd memorized several days ago and decided on the box of _Frosted Flakes_. "What about you?"

"Woke me an hour ago, when it started." She sat herself down at the table where a cup of coffee sat. "Just been getting louder, is all."

"Wonder how long it's gonna last?" Darien asked of no one in particular as he poured the milk over the flakes.

"The worst should be over in an hour or so, but the rain's supposed to hang about all day. Looks like we won't be heading out to the lake after all."

Darien, his mouth full of cereal nodded as he set the bowl on the table and then sat down. Swallowing he pointed at her with the spoon. "Uh, we could go to the movies. That _Back to the Future_ one is supposed to be pretty good."

"Michael J. Fox is a cutie," Michele said, grinning over the top of her mug. "Sounds like a plan." She reached over, grabbed the neatly folded newspaper, and began thumbing through it for the local movie times. The theater in town had only four screens, but they were huge compared to the rinky-dink ones in those monstrous Cineplex's that were springing up everywhere. There were some advantages to living in a small town.

"Pick a mid-afternoon one, we'll have dinner at the Joe's after," he suggested, knowing that even if he gorged on popcorn and candy during the movie he'd still be able to eat one of Joe's double-cheeseburgers after.

'Chele snickered as if she knew what he was thinking again. "You love to eat don't you?"

"Well, it is on my top ten list of fav things to do," Darien responded then lifted the bowl to drink the remaining milk. He got up and rinsed the bowl out in the sink then stuck it and the spoon in the dishwasher, which he noted needed to be run sometime today. Just before they left, he decided. He'd do a last dish hunt and then let the thing run while they were out of the house. Moving towards the coffee maker he grabbed himself a mug and poured himself a cup into which he dumped two packets of Sweet-n-Low. Sipping it, he leaned back against the counter and watched her quietly. She was still driving him nuts on multiple fronts, one moment nothing more than the friend he'd known for years, the next this sexy-as-hell temptress and the next this adorable redheaded kitten. He'd discovered he could derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from just watching her sleep. An innocent smile graced her lips and made her look even younger than usual. The fact that she was his caused an ache deep in his gut, one that he was terrified to examine too closely, one that was too new and like nothing he'd felt for any of the other girls he'd been with... well it scared the hell out of him at times.

"How about the 2:15?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. "Late lunch or early dinner at Joe's, then head back here to watch TV."

"Sounds good to me," he answered, his chest suddenly tight with longing.

Sliding the chair back she carried her now empty cup to the dishwasher and set it inside. Then she walked over to him, a finger trailing from his wrist back to his biceps. "You having second thoughts again?" she asked softly as she leaned in to kiss the spot where her finger had stopped, her teeth grazing lightly across the skin and making him shiver in reaction.

"No." His hand came up to run along her face. "No more second thoughts." Damn, if she wasn't the temptress once again. Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned into this hand, rubbing her face against him the way a cat would and stunning him with the sheer sensuality of it.

"Good. Seeing as we've got a few hours to kill it's your turn for a new lesson," she told him, sidling in even closer and plucking at his beat up t-shirt.

"Biology?" he asked with grin.

"Hmm, reproduction, perhaps?" she suggested playfully and laughed when he responded by plucking at her shirt in return.

"Oh please," he begged softly, the plucking turned into a caress.

She shook her head. "Maybe later. Darwinism versus eugenics."

Darien knew she could see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to figure out what she was referring to. "Darwinism, that's basic genetics, right? Evolution as opposed to creation. Natural selection and all that." 

"Dead on." 'Chele nodded, offering no help and leaving him to dig through his mind for the second.

"Eugenics... I've heard of it. That's, ummm... that design your kids idea? Pick the best genes from multiple donors and combine them to create planned effects. Anything from eye color to I.Q. I think?" Darien was not certain he was awake enough to figure this one out.

"Exactly right, though greatly oversimplified. Now, what if I suggested you could reprogram the body _after_ birth. Could alter any of those things, even fix problems, like birth defects after the genetic structure has supposedly been set?" Something in 'Chele's voice got his attention. Not eagerness so much as seriousness. Like this subject was something more than just a college grade for her, something personal.

Sipping at his coffee he mulled what she'd said, it seemed so much like science fiction that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Well, I thought that once the genes donated by the sperm and ova paired, that was it. That's what you got." He set the cup down on the counter, sure he was right. He'd got A's in the advanced biology class, even snagged some college credit points with it. "Eugenics is different, you literally pick your base pairs, both male and female, to choose the results. Or you could once they finish mapping the human genome."

"So you were paying attention in class." 'Chele laughed softly and Darien shoved her gently. "What if you could do things like improve intelligence, enhance senses, speed healing or a host of other things?"

Darien flashed on the conversation he'd overheard between 'Chele and his uncle several days ago. "You're serious aren't you?"

"Very. My parents were working on this, had been since the early sixties. Their theories are sound." She stepped away to pace the room a bit, going into full lecture mode. "It's not anything new, not really. The Romans used to make living weapons out of babies by feeding them tiny amounts of poison until they built up a resistance. Eventually their bodies became so flooded with it _they_ became poisonous. Just a touch or kiss could kill."

Darien nodded. "I've read about that, they were called... Damn. I can't remember."

"Catevari," 'Chele supplied.

Darien sniggered. "Is that a sexual position or an Italian Opera?"

He was pleasantly surprised when she laughed. "Oh, that's a good one. I'll have to remember it next time it comes up in a lecture. Substance tolerance is inevitable over long periods of use. That's why alcoholics and drug users have to imbibe more to achieve the same high. My parents took the idea of body tolerance and combined it with the functionality of a vaccine." She paused, and he knew she was waiting for him to put the pieces together. He also knew she'd give him the time to figure it out, would lead him towards the answer if he got stuck and not just explain it to him. He was always amazed at the amount of patience she had.

"All right, let's see if I can do this. A vaccine works by forcing the body to react to say... this year's flu shot so that it creates antibodies that will know how to fight that particular flu in the event it tries to invade the host body. But it's of little or no use if another strain of flu attacks." He glanced at 'Chele who nodded encouragingly.

"Now, how would that apply to a Catevari?" she prompted.

"Ummm, you know I'm not nearly awake enough for this." He commented pushing away from the counter and going to the table. He spun one of the chairs about and sat down, resting his arms along the back. 

"You can do this. Trust me." She was still slowly pacing the room, soft steps back and forth as the rain continued to fall and the occasional rumble of thunder chased after the lightning.

"Okay, in its simplest form vaccines do nothing more than cause the body to create a counter, a solution to defeat an invader." He stopped considering. "Whether antibodies or a histamine response, like after a bee sting." He caught on then. "So, in theory, you could create a 'vaccine' that the body would try and counter by creating the poison. Once created it would always be there and could probably be goosed into overproduction ? like a severe histamine response ? and the body wouldn't care, 'cause it's already adapted to it." He waited for her to stop and look at him. "But can the human body be... forced to produce what is essentially a foreign substance. I mean, yeah, some animals like snakes and frogs are poisonous, but humans aren't. Are they?"

Michele stopped and looked him in the eye, something almost frightened buried in their storm-tossed-sea color. "That's the real question, now isn't it?" 

***

The people spilling out of the theater were chatting happily and relieved to find the rain had let up for the moment. The torrential downpour had passed with the end of the late morning thunderstorms and turned to a steady drizzle, more than enough to dampen everything yet not quite heavy enough to warrant raincoats or umbrellas. The inclement weather had been a boon to the theater as the majority of the people that would normally have been out at the lake or any of the other nearby recreational areas were lured into the darkened interior to spend a couple hours losing themselves in another reality.

Most of the crowd moved off quickly, wanting to take advantage of the respite to get a few errands completed or to just wander about the quaint downtown area that was reminiscent of the one so recently seen in one of the movies by a good fifty people. The grass covered town square with park and city hall at one end and the town's library at the other, complete with the pair of lions guarding the entrance.

'Chele found it peaceful compared to the hustle and bustle of L.A. and Pasadena, far more like where she'd grown up.

They stepped out of the flow of people to lean against the exterior wall of the building, still laughing softly, posters advertising movies coming soon flanking them to either side.

"Okay, I gotta admit it was pretty good. Even if you were drooling over the wrong _Fox_ the entire time." Darien nudged her and she nudged right back.

"True, but which one am I going home with?" She grinned as she moved to stand in front of him. "Let's just walk to Joe's, it's only a few blocks."

Darien glanced up at the late afternoon sky, noting the clouds had thinned enough to allow weak and watery rays of sunlight through and create the faintest hint of shadows upon the ground. "Yeah lets." He draped an arm about her shoulders they headed up the block and past the various small town shops that lined what passed as the main drag for this sleepy mountainside village.

There were no _Saks Fifth Avenue_ or _Neiman Marcus_ here, just Annie's Antiques and J. J.'s Outfitters. Even at this time of the year, one could purchase snowshoes and skis along with a swimsuit and beach towel. Darien memories of living in southern California might have faded over time, but the incongruity still made living in Cold Springs a fit that just wasn't quite right on him.

They entered Joe's, which was themed after a 50's style diner complete with the metal tables and bright red plastic booths that included the mandatory jukeboxes, although the music was thoroughly modern with only the occasional Elvis song snuck in for theme-value. Shouts wafted out from the back corner where the teens of the town typically hung out.

"Hey, Fawkes." Rich was sitting on the back of the seat, resting against the wall in the huge corner booth.

Glancing at 'Chele, who nodded, Darien set a hand on her back and escorted her towards the back. There were nine of them, Rich, John, the twins, Tristan and Christian, and assorted girls.

"Have a seat 'Chele," Tristan offered as he patted the red plastic cushion beside him.

'Chele did so, and Darien grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, spun it about and set it in the aisle at the end of the booth, his arms resting along the back as he settled onto it. "Angelo putting up with us today?" Darien asked of the owner and cook of Joe's.

"Money talks, my friend." John slapped Darien on the back and took up his perch on the edge of the horseshoe shaped booth across from 'Chele. "Didn't see you two at the lake yesterday. You... umm, spend the day inside?" He tried to sound disinterested, but failed miserably.

"We went to Sacramento for the day. Had a picnic, robbed a bank, watched some fireworks. The usual." 'Chele answered in a bored tone. It took everything Darien had to keep a straight face.

"Robbed a..." John leaned forward to grasp 'Chele's hands in his own and turned to glare at Darien. "Please tell me you are not attempting to corrupt so fair a maiden?"

"Maiden?" Rich sniggered causing Janice to smack him in the stomach with the back of her hand. "Ow!" he complained, and then took a moment to wheedle her into a kiss to make it all better.

"And who says it was Dare's idea?" 'Chele asked slyly, making Christian just about choke on his soda.

Sondra pounded him on the back until he finally figured out where the soda was supposed to go internally and drew in a breath of clean, non-carbonated air.

John, having apparently absorbed this new data dove into the fray headfirst. Good thing it was the hardest part of his body. "So, how much did you get?"

Michele turned to Darien, an amused glint in her eyes. "Jeeze, are these guys always so easy?"

Darien chuckled and reached out to tweak her nose. "That's my girl. I'll make a con-artist out of you yet."

The sudden groans from about the table as they realized they'd been had were followed by a flurry of balled up napkins aimed at the guilty, but unrepentant 'Chele and Darien, who did their best to return fire while the entire group laughed in pure merriment.

***

The door shut, cutting off the sound of the deluge going on outside the house. Just as they were walking back to her car after leaving Joe's the skies had opened back up. No dreary drizzle this time, but a full-blown downpour that had them soaked to the skin in seconds. "Damn, if I had known that was gonna happen I'd a bought an ark," 'Chele grouched.

Darien shook his head vigorously, spraying water everywhere. "You look like a drowned rat."

Squeezing some of the water out of her shirt, she flung it at him. "Like you look any better."

Though tempted to retaliate Darien noticed that not only were they both dripping on his aunt's hardwood floor, but 'Chele was turning an awfully pretty shade of blue. He urged her toward the stairs with a gentle swat on her pert bottom. "Go get out of those wet clothes and I'll clean up this mess."

"You sure? I can wait a few if you want some help," she offered as water dripped off the end of her nose. She sneezed three times in quick succession, shivers finally overtaking her.

"I'm sure, go take a hot shower and warm up." He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, noting her lips were noticeably cool. She scampered away leaving a trail of damp footprints in her wake, her shoes squeaking with each step, much like he knew his own would do.

He walked quickly to the kitchen and grabbed the mop from the closet, as well as a bunch of hand towels. Using one to dry his hair a bit, he juggled the rest of the items and went back to the foyer. Dropping the towels on the floor he spread them out so that they would soak up the majority of the water, then he went to work tracking down an eliminating the stray drops and puddles with the mop. By the time he'd finished, the mop rinsed and rung out, the towels in the washing machine, he was fighting the urge to shiver. He also noted that his feet were doing a damn good imitation of prunes soaked in wine, squishing with every step due to the amount of water that had invaded his sneakers.

Running upstairs he rushed into the bathroom, thankful 'Chele's room had its own bath; right now was not the time to be walking in on her no matter how much he might appreciate the view. He stripped and dove into the shower, the water set as hot as he could take it. It took a few minutes, but he successfully fought off the chill, to the point of being pleasantly drowsy by the time he turned off the water and stepped out.

Wrapped in one of the huge fluffy towels, he hung his soaked clothes up to drip into the tub and dry a bit before he took them down to the dryer. The towel secure about his waist, he strode to his room and pulled out clothes to get dressed. His jeans were on, but not buttoned, the towel running through his hair, which made it stand up oddly, when there was a soft knock on his door.

"Yeah?"

"You decent?" 'Chele asked, her voice muffled through the thick wooden door.

Darien chuckled, "Never."

The door opened and 'Chele poked her head in to look about. He waved for her to enter, which she did, shutting the door most of the way behind her. She was wrapped in that ugly yellow terrycloth robe he'd seen a couple times before. It was ratty, with pulled threads in spots and generally in need of a good burning, but it was the robe her mom had given to her for college and she'd yet to find the courage to get rid of it. 

Still, he let his eyes rove over her, noting the fact that the robe fell to just above her knees and did little to hide her slim waist or the curves above and below. Her hair hung in damp ringlets, but she was no longer shivering, attesting to the fact she had indeed taken a shower to warm up a bit instead of just drying off.

  
Tearing his eyes away, he forced himself rummage through his bureau for a shirt to wear for the evening. They still had hours to kill before either of them would be interested in going to bed.... '_Sleep_,' he corrected mentally, though going to bed certainly seemed like a wonderful idea to part of his body, which reacted accordingly and made him wish he hadn't grabbed the snug-fitting jeans he was currently wearing. Something looser and with far more give in certain areas would be of great benefit at the moment.

The sudden compelling urge to conjure up what she would look like without the robe made his hands freeze in place, curling into the cotton of the shirt. He snarled mentally at himself to change tracks and fast before he found himself in a head on collision with reality.

'Chele's hand on his arm made him nearly jerk away in reaction, he'd been so focused on trying to control himself and not get all worked up with little chance of going anywhere. "You okay?" she asked hesitantly, her hand sliding up towards his shoulder.

"Umm, fine." It took him a moment to find his voice, her delicate touch doing a very effective job at derailing any potential train of thought. "So, uh, what do you want to do tonight? Veg in front of the TV, video games." He swallowed with some difficulty as she leaned in to brush her lips over his heart. "Poker?"

She poked him in the gut with one finger then looked up at him. "None of those. Was thinking something far more close contact."

Darien growled deep in his chest and fought the urge to pounce on her. Instead, he stepped back, not far, just enough to put a bit of space between them. He was having trouble accepting what he thought he was hearing even though his body was proving itself to be more than interested in her hinted at offer. "'Chele, I'm not quite sure... I mean I don't wanna push you into anything you're not..."

She closed the distance and set her fingers over his mouth. "Dare, I am the one person you shouldn't try the 'are you sure' routine on. I know how well it works for you, but it's completely unnecessary."

He shook his head and moved her hand; setting it over his heart so she could feel the way it was pounding. He dropped the shirt not caring that he missed the drawer and drew her closer to him. "It's not that, it's... I..." He wasn't sure how to put it into words. Those other girls had just been ...girls. He'd liked them well enough, had fun with them, got over them quickly enough when they ended it, but this was Michele. She wasn't just any girl, she was his best friend and while he'd had fantasies about doing this for years he'd never once thought, the last week and all its mutual exploration non-withstanding that it might actually happen. "'Chele,"

"Darien just shut up and kiss me."


	7. Chapter 7

***

The drowsy murmur of voices drew Darien up towards consciousness, the remnants of a most pleasant dream encouraging him to remain in that half-awake state where everything was bathed in a rose-colored haze of unreality. There was this odd feeling far in the background of his mind that he'd forgotten something, several somethings, in fact, but he was enjoying the drowsy warmth provided by the body he was curled about far too much to worry about it unduly.

Cracking one eye open, the light level suggesting it was late morning and that the storm had passed during the overnight hours, he was pleasantly surprised to find 'Chele lying next to him, her hair tickling his chin and her petite lithe body pressed back against his. It was damn nice to know the events of yesterday evening had been more than just a vivid dream conjured up by his overactive libido. Though they had indeed made it to bed quite early, they most certainly had not fallen to sleep for long hours, not until both of them had both been exhausted and completely sated.

He shifted his hand that rested on her hip upwards, along her stomach, and under her arm to caress the soft warm flesh there. This made her moan softly and shift back against him and inspiring a very natural reaction. Darien was seriously debating an attempt at waking her to find out if sex in the morning was as enjoyable as at night when there was a knock at his door an instant before it was flung open.

"Darien, get your lazy ass out of.... bed." The last word came out at a harsh whisper as Kevin's eyes widened in shock. "You son of a bitch," Kevin snarled, bolting from the room and leaving the door standing open.

"Ah crap." Darien practically flew out of the bed and scrambled to find his pants, zipping and buttoning them even as he ran out of his room. "Kevin. Kev. Kev, hold up there," he shouted as he bolted after his brother and caught up with him at the head of the stairs. He grabbed Kev by the upper arm and urged him into his bedroom, which was no easy task as Kevin was nearly as tall as Darien and built heavier. Kevin also had a full mad on and quite plainly did not want any part of a calm and rational discussion with his younger brother. 

"Kev, it's not what it looks like," When Kevin glared at him Darien revised his statement. "Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like. What's the big deal?"

Kevin shook his head in anger. "Big deal? What the hell were you thinking? Oh, wait, my mistake. You weren't, as usual." he sneered, his face flushing in his rage.

Darien just stared at Kevin for a moment, dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

"You have no idea what you've done, can't see anything beyond your personal wants and lusts," Kevin hissed as he stepped forward to poke Darien in the chest with a finger.

"My lusts?" Darien laughed harshly, knowing full well Michele had come to him last night and not the other way around. "You, as usual, have no freaking idea what you are talking about, bro." Darien took a step forward and loomed over Kevin. The tactic was effective and Kevin backed away, attempting to cover his discomfiture by adjusting his glasses.

"You are going to ruin her chances at a great career just to get laid. She can't afford entanglements, not now," Kevin explained coldly, his look dark. "Especially not with the likes of you."

"The likes of... You mean a thief?" Kevin nodded and Darien shook his head. Kevin was obviously wearing his blinders again, the ones which conveniently kept him from seeing things the way they really were. He had this tendency to place people in pigeonholes of his own creation and anything that occurred outside his own tightly held views were to be ignored as unimportant. So, although Darien had achieved top marks by the time he had graduated high school, Kevin still saw him as nothing more than a rebellious punk who was trying to do his best to embarrass the family name by taking up a life of crime to get his adrenaline rush. Kevin refused to see the budding philosopher who was hoping to share one of the things he loved with others some day. And that fact saddened Darien.

When Darien failed to comment as Kevin seemed to deem necessary, he continued his tirade. "For god's sake, Darien, what if Peter or Celia had walked in instead of me?" The muscles of Kevin's jaw clenched visibly and that vein running along his temple began to throb.

"Awww, jealous? Mad she picked me, the reprobate, over the Great Kevin Fawkes?" Darien was amazed at the deep dark red that suddenly flooded his brother's features and he knew he'd hit it dead on. "She's an adult, Kev, and can make her own choices. Even if it means picking _me_." Darien waved a hand at himself to emphasize his point. The quiet look of confidence that appeared on Kevin's face worried Darien, but only for a second.

"A good point. She is indeed an adult and you," That finger was back to poke Darien in the sternum, "are not."

Darien snorted in amusement and swatted the offending hand away. "What? You gonna call the cops?" Darien lowered his voice and leaned closer, using his height over Kevin to his advantage. "Then who would be the one ruining her chances, hmmm?" 

Kevin spluttered and swore while Darien straightened and smiled, knowing he'd easily won that round. "Damn you, Darien!"

"You ain't god yet, Kev." Darien turned away, tired of this and knowing that, no matter what he might try to say, Kevin would still do what he wanted and to hell with the consequences. Opening the door Darien made one last attempt, "Leave it alone. It's none of your business."

Kevin, however, had to make that one last push. "I'll tell Peter," he warned, his voice full of venom.

Darien paused with one hand resting on the door and looked back at his older brother. "Showing that vaunted maturity there, bro. Running to tattle on me, just like always." Before Kevin could react Darien was out the door and walking back to his room to break the news of his brother's discovery to 'Chele.

"'Chele, babe, we got a prob...lem." Much to his dismay, Michele was gone, the bed neatly made, the few pieces of clothing that had been scattered about put away, the evidence of their night wiped clean away leaving only subtle traces that only he an 'Chele would recognize, behind. Simple things like the clean blanket on the bed, the slight scent of musk in the air, the stray red hairs catching the light coming in through the now opened curtains. She'd even opened the window, allowing the fresh breeze in to try and steal the remaining olfactory clues from him.

"Perfect, Kev, thanks a lot." Fetching clean clothes, he quickly changed, finding the pants much more comfortable with underwear beneath the coarse material, as well as a lot safer for certain portions of his anatomy. The sharp teeth of a zipper meeting tender flesh was not something he ever wanted to experience.

Running a comb through his hair, the worry that had been hiding in that dark, dank corner of his mind surged forward into the light and forced him to examine it closely. What if she was regretting what happened between them? What if she didn't think he was really good enough for her, had used him simply because he was here and willing? What if, as Kevin had suggested, she thought a real relationship would ruin her plans for the future? A relationship with himself, anyway?

"And what if she simply wanted to keep me from getting yelled at by Pete?" Darien grumbled aloud to himself, trying to bolster his waning confidence. "No more second thoughts."

"Darien," Celia called from somewhere downstairs. "Can you come here, please?"

Darien's stomach balled into a hard knot of uncertainty and sank down to his feet, sure Kevin was as good as his weasely word and had told both Pete and Celia. "Coming." he responded. He wanted to go talk to 'Chele before facing the proverbial music with his aunt and uncle, wanted to know where they stood with each other before paying whatever price they would demand of him. With a sigh of resignation he left his room and headed downstairs.

He found Celia in the formal living room packing the photo's that lined the mantle into a box.

"Whatcha need?" Darien asked from the doorway. "We moving?"

"Oh, heavens no." Celia set the box on the floor. "We decided to repaint the room while both you boys were here." She turned about to look him over and Darien squirmed internally under her gaze, positive she'd see the evidence of what he and 'Chele had done splashed across his features like a theatre marquee promoting a new movie. "Think you can help me move the furniture?"

Darien contained a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Sure. You point and I'll hoist."

Celia laughed lightly. "Go get yourself something to eat while I clear away some of the smaller items."

His stomach spoke up then, agreeing with his aunt's suggestion of seeking sustenance and he ducked his head. He had burned up quite a few calories last night and was understandably starved. Shifting to lean against the doorframe he asked, "You seen 'Chele?"

"Hmmm? Oh, she said she was heading into town. Some errands, I think," Celia answered. "You two have some fun over the holiday?"

"Yeah, some," Darien answered feeling hurt that 'Chele had bolted not only from his bed, but the entire house in what appeared to be the sudden need to be away from him. "I'll be back in 15 minutes, okay?"

"That's fine, dear," Celia said, distractedly, once again placing smaller items in the box.

***

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Darien finally got a chance to catch more than a glimpse of Michele. The living room was now mostly bare; the few remaining pieces of furniture covered with both sheets and heavy drop cloths. He'd left when Pete and Kevin pulled out slide rules to figure out how much paint they were going to need. Celia had already moved off to the kitchen to start dinner and, though Darien had offered to help as a way to avoid talking to 'Chele, Celia had politely refused, citing not only his assistance all day long, but his exemplary behavior while they had been out of town.

So now Darien stood on the back porch gazing across the backyard at 'Chele, who lay on the grass, propped up on her right side, reading. The temperature was far more moderate today, with markedly less humidity dampening the air. She looked disgustingly calm and comfortable in the pair of cut-off shorts and flowing gauze shirt, which moved gently in the light breeze.

Hearing a sound behind him, Darien turned to see Celia standing in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. "Did the two of you have a fight or something?"

Darien shrugged not quite able to meet her eyes. "Or something."

Celia pushed the door open, draping the towel over one shoulder and moved to stand before him. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

Darien tossed a look over at 'Chele before answering. "I don't know."

"Since I have no idea what happened, and I'm not going to ask, I will only say this: The two of you have been through a lot over the years and what few disagreements you've had you always worked it out. Why do you think this time will be any different?" Celia set a hand on his arm and encouraged Darien to turn about. She gestured at 'Chele who casually turned a page, still fully absorbed in her reading and oblivious to the discussion going on about her. "Just talk to her."

Celia patted him on the arm and then left him, the screen door thudding shut seconds later. Darien still didn't move right away, preferring the illusion that everything was perfectly fine between him and 'Chele and terrified to take the risk and find out it might not be.

Sucking a breath in between his teeth to gather up what little courage he could find he strode down the steps and across the lawn to flop down on the grass, mirroring her position with the book lying like a no-man's land between them.

He was completely stunned when she raised her head and planted a firm kiss on his lips without the slightest hint of shyness or hesitation. "Hey you. They finally turn you loose from manual labor?"

"You could say that," Darien responded. Picking up the book, he tilted it to read the title, fully expecting it to be some deep and dry scientific text only to find, "_The Blue Sword_?" 

"Yeah. Horses, swords, magic, all the things us female-types are supposed to like," she explained as she took the book from him and set it aside. "Fantasy is a nice change of pace for me. 'Sides I've stumbled upon more than one idea that had practical applications in the lab." 

Darien gave her a wan smile, not sure where to begin. "'Chele, where do we stand... with each other?"

"Well, since currently we're not standing..." She wore an amused smile, which faded as Darien frowned. "What's wrong, Darien?"

Darien dropped his eyes to his hand, which was plucking nervously at the carpet of grass lying between them, the few inches separating them suddenly seeming to be a gulf greater than the Pacific itself. "Do you regret what happened?"

'Chele laughed softly and Darien's head snapped up to stare at her. "Regret? Hell no. Feel incredibly stupid for forgetting they would be coming home, but that's all."

Darien shook his head in disbelief. "Then why avoid me all day?"

She looked disconcerted. "I didn't intend to. The screaming match between you and Kevin made me think it might be better to stay out of sight for few hours. That's all." She set her hand over his, stilling his efforts at removing all the grass within immediate reach. "I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression because of it."

Darien sighed in relief to know that at least one of his fears had no basis in reality. "Does that mean you'd like to, umm... do it again?" As he watched, she got this heated look in her eyes that told him everything that he needed to know.

"In a heartbeat." Her voice was hushed and her hand slid up along his arm, causing him to shiver. "But perhaps we should wait until we don't have an audience."

Turning his head Darien could see Kevin standing at the back door watching the two of them with this scowl on his face. Grabbing 'Chele's hand Darien kissed the back of it making her grin and then he waved at Kevin who stormed off leaving them alone. 

"Damn, he is being such a jerk," 'Chele muttered.

"Huh?" 

"Oh, he confronted me while I was doing laundry. Explaining why you would be an 'inappropriate companion for me.' I asked him why he was jealous," 'Chele explained, making Darien burst out laughing, glad to know he wasn't the only one to catch onto the reasons for his brother's sudden concern for Michele. "It's none of his business."

"Damn straight." He brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear while screwing up his courage to tackle the next topic. "You could've mentioned you were... umm... uh..." He suddenly found himself unsure how to say it aloud and could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

"Inexperienced?" she supplied and he nodded. "I'm not _that_ inexperienced, Dare." 

"I'll give ya that one. Though where you find the time..." He grinned as she blushed bright red.

"Unlike certain geniuses around here, I do not spend my life in a lab. I love my work, but it is not all my life is about." She poked Darien lightly in the chest. "Big difference between being alive and living. And I plan on enjoying my life to the fullest."

"Good." He waffled for a few seconds, the silence surprisingly easy between them. "I... I'm kinda wondering, why me?"

"Why not you?" she countered in all seriousness. 

"'Chele, it just doesn't make sense to me, I guess. You've obviously gotten pretty serious with guys at college and yet you come to me for... that. Was I just convenient or something?" He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, but based on the look that crossed her features he wasn't very successful. 

"Darien, it's really very simple. I trust you." 'Chele shifted and sat up her knees drawn up to her chest and sighed. "Those guys were nice enough and fun to mess around with, but I didn't trust them _that_ far."

"Trust. That's it?" Darien rolled onto his stomach and took a moment to go boneless and close his eyes, the sunlight turning the inside of his eyelids red.

"No, that's not 'it.' But was it a major factor? Yes." She ran a hand through his hair and he let himself relax a bit more, basking in the sensation. "There's lots of cute guys out there, but I kinda like a bit more depth, ya know?"

Darien snorted softly catching the double entendre. Her next words, however made his heart stop for an instant.

"I'm not expecting any sort of commitment from you, if that's what you're worried about."

His throat tightened, one worry kicking him in the side of the head to remind him of its existence. "So, what, I'm good for a summer fling and that's it?"

"No!" she snapped far louder than he expected; his eyes flying open in surprise. "No, but I am trying to be realistic, here. You're heading to college and trust me when I say it's like nothing you've experienced before. I am not gonna hold you to some long distance relationship. It wouldn't be fair to you." Darien shifted and sat up so he could see her easily. "Six months from now you might meet the girl of your dreams, I refuse to keep you from something like that."

Darien was tempted to say that he already had, but refrained as it was obvious she didn't want to hear anything like that. "'Chele, that's not likely to happen."

"Perhaps not, but it might," she countered. "You don't know the future any more than I do."

"Then why? You said it's not a 'summer fling'." Darien found himself becoming more and more confused.

"I think that right now, right at this moment in our lives, _this_ is where we're supposed to be, and what we're supposed to be doing." She shook her head making the curls bounce about her face. "Make any sense?"

He took a couple minutes to really think about what she had said and, while part of him wanted to grab her and hold on forever, the more rational side agreed with her. They'd been heading for this for years, this he _knew_ with a certainty he could feel in his soul, but what he wasn't sure of was for how long it would or should last. "Makes lots of sense. I just... I guess I'm afraid this is going to change things between us too much."

"We're friends first, right? Thick and thin. Good times or bad," she said, reminding him of the, at the time, goofy vow they'd made to each other and realizing she'd taken it quite seriously.

"Always," Darien agreed. "But I kinda like being more."

'Chele grinned. "Me too, and right now it works for us, but it may not always. You're 17, Darien, there are lots of things you are going to want to do in your life. I'd like to see you do them." When he frowned slightly she added, "Tell you what, how about we agree to get together every year around your birthday, for a day or a week, however long we can and it'll be just for us. Whatever happens during that time happens. That way even if our lives get too busy for our weekly chats we have a chance to catch up." 

Darien brightened at the idea, liking it immensely, although the thought of them no longer having their weekly phone conversations saddened him a bit. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Good. Now, you need to screw up your courage and talk to Peter." 'Chele motioned towards the porch where Darien's uncle was standing waiting patiently for a natural break in the conversation.

Darien groaned, not wanting to have to deal with the discussion he knew was to come. He was tired of lectures and reprimands. And this time it involved Michele. "Shit."

"Darien, he's not your enemy." Darien snorted in disbelief. "Come on Dare, if he was overly upset about us, do you think I'd still be welcome here?"

Darien felt a small shock run through him. She did have a point, a very good one. "I'll keep it in mind." Leaning over he gave her a quick kiss and got to his feet.

"Darien, can I talk to you for a minute?" Peter asked, his voice perfectly normal and not that controlled calm that signaled he was angry.

"Sure," Darien answered and followed him into the house.

***

Peter led the way to his office and waved for Darien to sit, which he did, if somewhat reluctantly. Peter didn't sit, instead going to the mantle and looking over the pictures there, some of which included Michele over the years, most often with Darien. "So, Kevin tells me he found you and Michele in bed together. Can I assume you didn't actually sleep much?"

The almost bored tone of voice shocked Darien and though part of him was sorely tempted to lie and deny the truth, but 'Chele's comment about Peter not being the enemy gave him the courage to answer truthfully. "Yeah, that'd be accurate." Darien half expected disappointment or anger from Peter and was therefore stunned when he did nothing more than shake his head and chuckle softly.

"Can't say I'm all that surprised. Though it did take you two longer than I imagined it would. I expected something like this a year ago." Peter pushed away from the fireplace and to the chair on the far side of the desk and sat down. "How long have you been sexually active?"

Darien blushed in embarrassment and sputtered for a few moments while Peter calmly waited for a real answer. "About a year," Darien finally mumbled, then clearer in defense of Michele, "Not with 'Chele."

"I figured," Peter responded dryly. "Were you at least intelligent enough to use protection?" He gave Darien a stern look that demanded an honest and immediate response.

"Yeah, of course," Darien answered, though there was this sudden sense of having forgotten something of great importance. That same something that had tickled the back of his mind this morning before Kevin had made his entrance. He searched his mind for it, going over the evening step by step until he stumbled across what it was and paled in reaction. "Oh. Crap."

"Except with Michele," Peter filled in with a headshake.

"I didn't... I mean.... It wasn't on purpose," Darien practically wailed, feeling guilty and incredibly stupid to forget something so basic. He was also consumed with a sudden concern for Michele, fearing that he might have screwed up her life just as Kevin had accused.

"Darien, calm down. As usual, when it's really important your luck has kicked in." The irony of the situation was heavy in Peter's words.

"Huh?" Darien was utterly confused. He'd screwed up royally and his uncle was saying it was okay? "Umm, could you explain that one?  


Peter smiled wryly. "For reasons I won't go into, Michele has been on birth control for several years. It could be... dangerous for her to get pregnant." He got back to his feet and walked to the window, looking out at the street.

Darien let those words soak in before commenting. "Does it have to do with whatever is wrong with her?"

Peter actually looked shocked for an instant. "Yes, it does. If she is willing to talk about it, let her, but don't push her on it. All right?"

Darien nodded. He'd been kind of upset to learn she was sick and had never told him, but had believed her when she'd assured him it was nothing serious. They had talked a bit, but not really about anything specific. "Whatever she needs."

"Good. Because what she needs is someone she can count on, someone she can trust." Peter moved to sit on the edge of the desk before Darien. "You two have been very good for each other over the years. I would like to see it continue."

Darien shifted back into the chair, relaxing a bit with how easily this conversation had gone. While not entirely comfortable, it also had not been the trial that he'd expected it to be. "So, are you gonna tell me to stay away from her?"

"No. Not that it would do any good if I did. Just be discreet. No need to worry Celia," Peter told him. The he asked the one question Darien never expected. "Do you love her?"

"Yes." Leapt from Darien before he'd even fully absorbed the ramifications of the question.

Peter chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that should have been obvious by now. Now, the real question is: are you _in love_ with her?" He raised a hand to forestall the automatic answer Darien was about to give. "Think before you say anything."

Darien bit down on the instantaneous 'yes' that tried to escape and did as he was asked. Actually examining his feelings for Michele. He'd cared about her for years, hell he'd loved her for years, if only as a friend. Had come to rely on her wisdom to keep him going when things with his family were crumbling about him. Had shared both sorrows and triumphs, joy and pain over the years and she'd always been there for him. Yeah, he loved her, but, in the last year, it had become something more. The desire, the wanting, the sudden need to touch her for more than just comfort even though she was hundreds of miles away. The fantasies, the dreams, the _wet dreams_ had all led up to the events of last nigh. But was he _in love_ with her?

Peter waited patiently for Darien to gather his thoughts. "Well?" he prompted.

"I don't know."

Peter nodded in satisfaction. "Honest anyway. What you need to figure out is which is more important to you. Loving her as a friend or being _in love_ with her." 


	8. Chapter 8

March 1989

Darien had his hand on the door when the phone rang.  He grumbled under his breath about crappy timing while he debated the merits of answering it versus walking out the door and letting the answering machine do the work for him. He managed to delay a decision long enough that the machine kicked in and sent his roommate's voice wafting out into the apartment.

"We ain't here.  If you're a babe make sure to leave your name and address and I'll be over to make your every fantasy come true."  The message was followed by series of musical beeps.

Darien rolled his eyes wondering when Martin had changed the message to that piece of crap.

"Well, that was ... different, Marty.  What if your mother were to call?" The female voice admonished. Darien recognized instantly.  He chuckled at her commentary, especially since he knew Martin's mother called every Sunday at 8 PM on the dot and that she would _not appreciate the message at all.  "D, bud, give me a call when you get in.  I need a favor."_

Half a dozen steps and the phone was up against Darien's ear.  "Hey babe, whatcha need?"

"Company.  I'm having a crappy week.  Think you could come up for the weekend?"  'Chele asked, sounding more than a little strained to Darien.

"Yeah, sure." He answered without hesitation. He ran over his schedule for Friday in his mind.  "Hmm, last class tomorrow gets over at 3PM.  I can be at your place by dinner."

"That works." Her voice shook ever so slightly; just enough for Darien to guess something beyond schoolwork stress was going on.

"'Chele, are you okay?" he asked softly, concern tingeing his words.

"Well enough.  Not about to drop dead or anything.  How about you?"  Her interest was real and she made an obvious effort to perk up a bit.

"Life is good.  Busy, but good."  Darien smiled at her soft laugh.  "I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Thanks, Dare." 'Chele said, quickly followed by a click as she hung up.

"Huh." Darien muttered as he set the phone back in its cradle and glanced at his watch.  "Crap, I'm late." He grabbed his books and bolted for the door.

The left turn blinker clicked rhythmically as Darien turned into the driveway of the cozy little house 'Chele had bought a few years previously.  The house was on a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood lined with ancient shade trees and sidewalks cracked by the shifting of the earth.  It was well away from LA proper, forcing her to commute to school, but the peace and quiet she'd gained had made it more than worth the hassle for her.  The lawn was neatly trimmed and the flowerbeds were beginning to bloom in the warming weather of early spring he noticed as he pulled around back to park next to her Mustang.

Shutting off the engine, he grabbed his duffel and slid out of the car, tucking the keys into his pocket as he mounted the wrap-around porch's steps.  Pulling open the screen door, he was surprised to find the second, far more solid one, securely locked.  "'Chele?"  He was just about to dig out his keys to open it himself when he heard the sound of the locks disengaging.

The door swung open slowly and Darien could only stare in shock.  Her hair was pulled away from her face to starkly reveal the massive bruise on her left cheek, the eye half filled with blood due to burst blood vessels.

"Hey, Dare."  She reached out to set a hand on his forearm, but didn't move out of the doorway to let him enter.

His hand came up to brush along her cheek, but she flinched away and he dropped the hand back to his side.  Never, in all the years he had known her, had she flinched away from him.  "What the hell happened?" he asked at a hoarse whisper.

Tugging on his arm, he let her draw him into the house. "I...I'll tell you everything."  She locked the door as Darien dropped his bag on the floor then moved to pull her into a hug that he was certain she needed.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, stepping away quickly, her eyes wide in fright.

"Hey, it's all right."  Darien said in a soothing tone as he followed her motion and then closed the distance between them.  He watched her and waited for the fear to subside and for her to reach out to him.  She'd been right, psychology had been very useful to him over the years. But this was the first time he'd needed to actively use it with her.  Since she was obviously frightened he forced himself to relax, to slouch a bit to reduce his height, his hands falling open to show he was unarmed and unthreatening.

He patiently waited for the fear to subside and for her to reach out to him; her hand was surprisingly steady as it lifted up and he took it into one of his own. He drew her into a gentle embrace wanting to question her about what happened, but somehow knowing she needed to do this her way, to tell him in her own time.  She shook in his hold, a delicate tremor running through her entire body as some infinitesimally small amount of emotion leaked out.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her face pressed against his chest and tipped downward as if afraid to look at him. "It's been one hell of a week."

His fingers curved under her chin and he tipped her head up, thankful she was allowing the movement as he didn't want to force her, in order to get a good look at the damage.  The bruise took up most of her cheek and shaded from red about the edges to a deep purple that boarded on black near the center. But it was her eye itself that was the most shocking. The glorious gray-blue of deep cold waters now dull as granite, the outer edge filled with blood, a near perfect line dividing the white from the red right down the center.

"When did this happen?"  Medically he knew enough between her, Kevin and his own classes to know the bruising was in full bloom and that the pooled blood had not yet begun to subside.

"Wednesday." she replied, suddenly back in complete control.  Stepping away, she motioned for him to follow her. "Come on, you're gonna want to be sitting for this."

Darien trailed along behind her, trying not to crowd her since it was good bet she'd just try to hide away from him again.  They ended up in her huge eat-in kitchen where Darien was once again surprised at how normal it looked.  Kev's place, at least the few times he'd visited it, was filled with glass pipes and tubes transferring noxious substances from one to another, leaving little or no space for the simple task of preparing and eating a meal.  Almost every available surface quickly became nothing more than another place to conduct his interminable experiments.

'Chele's kitchen, on the other hand was open, with huge bay windows over looking the backyard, and homey. Fresh herbs hung out to dry, wines and flavored oils sat in their designated racks and plants, and there was seemingly a jungle's worth of plants on shelves, windowsills, and every available surface without encroaching on the needed work areas. The counters were clear, as was the table, which held nothing more than a miniature rose, two glasses and a half-empty bottle of Cuervo Gold.

She settled into a chair and filled both glasses with a good six ounces of tequila each. "'Chele, you know I don't drink much."  It had been one of the deals he'd made with himself when starting college after talking to 'Chele about her experiences and observations and he'd found it a surprisingly easy promise to keep.

"Trust me, you want that in you before you hear this."  She picked up her own glass and downed a good half the contents in one swallow.  Though she did not appear to be drunk Darien feared that she had been the one to drain the bottle, and recently at that.

Looking her over he got the distinct impression she wasn't kidding about him needing the alcohol in him to hear whatever news she wanted to impart, news he suspected was going to be less than pleasant.  He raised his glass and swirled the golden liquid about for a moment before downing a fair portion.

"Do you remember Jess?" she asked as he set down the glass and tried not to gasp as the tequila burned its way down to his stomach.

Darien had to think, he'd met quite a few of her friends over the years, but he was pretty sure Jess was part of the group she'd fallen in with early on.  Majoring in microbiology, Darien seemed to recall.  "Uh, about my height, blonde, looks like he stepped out of the pages of GQ?"

'Chele snorted.  "Yeah, that would be Jess.  And to think I have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"'Chele?"  Darien was unsure where this conversation was going.

"A bunch of us were gonna meet up.  One of our_ discussion groups." Darien nodded, knowing all about those, he had even joined in a few when they'd coincided with his visits.  A random topic would be chosen; anything from quantum physics to the meaning of Bloom County. They would pick it apart while swilling vast amounts of alcoholic libations and eating pizza and chips.  They were fun as hell with the speculation getting wilder the drunker the group became._

"Jess offered to drive me."  She shrugged.   "No big deal really, it wasn't the first time.  Instead of going to Tate's he drove us to The Point."  When Darien looked at her blankly she elaborated.  "Uh, local Lover's Lane."

"What?  And you've never taken me there?" Darien asked sounding mock offended in hopes of easing the swiftly building tension, but with no success. Instead she finished off the drink with a hand that shook noticeably and refilled the glass.

"Jess explained he wanted to talk to me before the party.  He asked if I'd taken one of the job offers yet and I told him no, but that I had narrowed it down to two."

"Gentech and Hollow Brook, right?  Unless you changed you mind about that government job."  Darien was surprised with the way she suddenly brightened at the slight change in topic.

"Nah, I want my work to be of use, not buried under mounds of bureaucratic red tape.  And I'm leaning towards Hollow Brook.  The pay is less, but they are more willing to meet my conditions." She gave him a half-hearted smile.  "Jess was thrilled I'd not made a commitment yet and told me he had another offer for me to consider."  She closed her eyes as if needing to cut off the sight of the world around her to concentrate and more easily recall what happened.  "Next thing I know he's got this ring out and he's going on about how close we've become, how he wants nothing more than to protect and keep me."  She laughed bitterly.  "And there I was with no bloody idea what he was talking about."

Darien sat there stunned for a moment trying to absorb the fact that Jess had proposed to Michele. "You been... dating him?"  Darien knew she'd had several relationships over the years, mostly short term, but always ending well.  She was still friends with all of them, hell, Darien knew quite a few of them and knew that they didn't hold anything against 'Chele.  The pressure and tough working conditions often led to relationships of convenience and not of love.

'Chele slapped a hand on the tabletop. "No, damn it!" She lifted the glass and drank down even more of the tequila.  "No.  At most I've maybe given him a stray kiss or hug.  Nothing else. There was always something that just kept me from taking it further."

Darien took one of her hands into his.  "You don't have to do this for me."

"I need to do this for me and you need to understand." Her voice was faint and laced with such raw pain that he could only nod and try to remain calm while she told him the rest of the story.

"Once I stopped being utterly confused, I very politely thanked him and told him 'no'." She looked Darien right in the eye, strength returning to her for the moment. "You know I have no plans to get married and why."

Darien nodded. While the details were still vague even after all this time, he knew she wanted nothing to do with having kids due to the genetic anomalies that had come to light fours years ago.  Darien also knew he was one of very few people she trusted with that information.

"He got a bit upset.  Kept insisting it was going to happen one way or another, that we were meant for each other, and that I should just give in."  Her grip on his hand tightened even as her voice flattened, the emotion leaching away.  "He wouldn't let up so I got out of the car.  Figured I'd walk to the phones near the entrance of the park and call Ginny or Tom to come pick me up. But he came after me.  Managed to catch me off-guard and clock me a good one."  Her fingers traced lightly over the bruise on her cheek.  "We fought, I put him down and ran."

Darien got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was not nearly the worst of it.  Not yet.  "Michele,"

She shook her head, silencing him.  "They - the police -- think he nailed me in the head with a branch.  Hard enough that really fighting back was impossible.  I tried as best I could with my head aching and the world spinning around me, but he hit me a few more times with his fists until I couldn't fight any more." Her voice broke; becoming this pitiful hushed wail. "He told me he'd make it so no one else would want me and raped me."

"Oh crap."  Darien mumbled, his heart breaking for her, feeling guilt for not being there to help her, to prevent this from happening.  He lifted his glass and drank down the remaining liquid; she was right, he needed it in him to handle this.  She_ knew how he reacted to abuse and this time was no different. A sudden white-hot rage competed for dominance with the need to comfort 'Chele, but one glance at her and the rage settled, banking itself for later use._

He slid off the chair and crouched beside her.  "Damn it, why?"

She laughed, hysteria just on the edge of the sound, her eyes more than a little wild.  "Like I know.  I've been asked that so many times the last couple of days and I have no more idea of why he did this than anyone else." Hesitantly she set a hand against his cheek.  "If his goal was to make everyone despise me, it's worked pretty well.  People I've known for years want to know what I did to provoke him, why I led him on.  And I didn't.  I swear I didn't."

"I know."  Darien stated in complete agreement.  "You may be a hopeless flirt, but you have _never crossed that line."  She shuddered as if relieved to know one person believed her. "You don't have to answer this, but have you been to a hospital?"_

'Chele nodded.  "When Jess was done and I'd gathered my wits about me, I made it to the phone and called 911.  Jess had wandered away and left me alone for some unknown reason." Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "News is all over campus along with dozens of rumors, most of which color me as the instigator of the incident." She moaned then, paling dramatically. "Crap, I'm gonna be sick."

Darien moved out of her way as she dashed down the hall to the bathroom.  He followed, not allowing the poorly closed door to bar his way.  "Ah, sweet thing, I am so sorry."  He knelt beside her while she got rid of what seemed to be several days' worth of liquid meals. He forced his gag reflex to not react, suddenly thankful for his booze happy roommate.  When she finally settled back coughing he fetched a glass of water, which she used to rinse her mouth before weakly yanking down the handle to dispose of the evidence. Then she burst into tears.

Darien pulled her into his arms as she released the emotional storm that had been building since Wednesday, and he somehow knew this was the first time she'd allowed herself to break down since it had happened.  "It's all right.  You're safe now.  I won't let him hurt you again," he whispered, along with dozens of other similar phrases as he tried to calm her.

It was about an hour before she'd cried herself out and by then she was an exhausted mess.  Not that he was doing much better, her news had hit him just as hard and he'd run through the gamut of emotions. His own share of tears had mingled with hers.  She was still conscious, but completely limp and numb. Making sure she could sit up on her own, he moved over to the shower and turned it on.  With no hesitation he stripped and then did the same to 'Chele.  She didn't comment, didn't fight him or resist, but neither did she help.  It was as if she wasn't even really there any longer.  

He carried her under the falling water and shut the door making it just the two of them alone and apart from the rest of the world.  For long minutes she didn't move, her forehead resting against the side of his neck as he held her, wishing he could wash away what had happened along with the water rushing over them.  Eventually she seemed to swing back to the here and now and shuddered in his hold.

"I can stand on my own, you know." 'Chele commented with little energy in her words.

"You sure?"  Darien asked, relieved she was still with him.

"Yeah, I'm sure."  He set her down carefully, ready to catch her if she was wrong and her legs wouldn't hold her up.  She did manage to stand, but she leaned against him needing both physical and emotional support. 

After a few minutes with nothing more than the sound of the water he lifted the bar of vanilla scented soap from its little shelf and tried to convince his shaking hands to work up lather.  Although outwardly he did his best to maintain an air of calm, inside that anger was burning merrily away.  Simple, yet astonishingly violent fantasies of what he would do to Jess once he got his hands on him.  And he fully planned on getting his hands - literally - on the bastard and making damn sure that pretty face would be far more likely to be seen on the cover of Fangoria instead of the aforementioned Gentlemen's Quarterly.

Using the lather he gently washed her, each bruise, each mark that had been left behind only making him that much angrier. Her ribs bore obvious knuckle marks from Jess' fists; her wrists and forearms bore defensive bruising as she'd attempted to block his blows.  The back of her head still sported the goose egg where he'd hit her with some piece of nature and taken the fight out of her.  Her thighs were the worst; the bruises there were seemingly minor in comparison but far more telling. There were fingerprints, some near perfect with the lines and swirls easily visible, while others were simply darkened blobs that gave evidence that she had in no way been a willing participant in what had happened.

The overall number and severity of the bruises made his blood run cold and the need to give her some sort of vengeance was almost unbearable.  Once she was rinsed he tenderly kissed each and every bruise, which caused her to shudder and moan softly in reaction. It wasn't sexual on his part, just some primitive need to try to make the marks, the pain go away.

When the water began to cool he shut it off and stepped out to retrieve a couple of towels. He secured one about his hips and wrapped the second about her when she appeared in the open doorway of the shower.  Scooping her up in his arms, heedless of her protests, he carried her to her room and set her down on the bed.

"I am not an infant, Darien."  'Chele complained, glaring at him.

"Nope, you're not. Now, what would you like to wear, or should I just choose?" He forced a suggestive grin on his face as he pulled open her lingerie drawer, knowing damn well teddys or garters were not what she wanted to be wearing right now.

"Damn it, Dare." she snapped, not the least bit amused.  Getting to her feet she went to her other bureau, yanked open the top drawer and pulled out some skimpy piece of cloth, which she slipped on under the towel.  Shutting that drawer she opened the next one down and removed a delicate-looking set of pajamas.  "Darien,"

"Yeah, I'll get my bag." Leaving her alone to dress without argument, he grabbed his duffel from where it still lay by the back door and dug out underwear and a set of comfortable sweats, as it was a good bet they would be staying in this evening. He dressed quickly, not wanting to give the neighbors or any stray passerby a free show through the open windows.

Going into the kitchen he rinsed the glasses out in the sink and put the bottle of tequila away.  Neither of them would be touching it again tonight.

He wasted a few more minutes checking the fridge and cabinets to see what she had for food and found them well stocked as always.  When he finally headed back to her room he didn't see her and became instantly worried.  No matter what she said or how she protested, she was a mess and needed his help.  A quiet sob led him to the far side of the bed where she lay on the floor curled up in a fetal position, the tears once again flowing down her cheeks.

"Ah, sweets, don't do this."

"S...s...sorry." she stuttered. "C...can't seem to s...stop."

"I am gonna _kill him for this."  Darien snarled softly.  Her reaction was swift and startling._

Sitting up quickly she jabbed him in the calf hard enough to give him a charley horse and send him to the floor with a grunt of pain, his hands heading for the induced cramp in a vain attempt to massage it away. 

"Don't you even _think that, Darien Fawkes.  You wanna end up like him?  Someone capable of hurting people like this?" She gestured at herself, the bruises on her face and arms easily visible.  "Thinking crap like that is the way to go about it."_

Darien fumed silently, not wanting to listen to her words or her reasoning.  As far as he was concerned any damage he could do to Jess was completely justified.

"Darien, I know how you feel about abuse, but I don't need you to defend me or enact some medieval vendetta for me.  Please?" she begged and Darien's anger cracked.

"'Chele I don't want him to touch you again." he told her, trying to get her to understand what it was he wanted to do and why.

"I know, but if you do this, if you find him and hurt him, how are you any better than him?"  Her voice had gone icy cold, but her eyes flared with barely restrained anger and hurt.

"'Chele, I am _nothing like him." Darien hissed, lashing out verbally at her in frustration.  "I would - could - never do what he did to you."_

"Not of your own free will maybe, but how is what you are contemplating any different?" She threw the words at him, with little effect.

"He _raped you, 'Chele. He deserves to hurt for that." Darien snarled, not willing to back down for an instant._

Michele paled.  "Get out," she ordered in a voice gone faint.

"What?"

"I said 'Get out.' You want to cross that line, go right ahead, I won't stop you. But I will _not have you doing it in my name."  She forced herself to her feet, visibly shaking with the effort it took.  "Not for me, my honor, or whatever macho bullshit reason you've come up with.  Just get out."_

Darien shook his head.  "I can't, not now.  You need me here."

"Not like this." she disagreed.

"Shit, 'Chele.  What am I supposed to do?  Let him get away with this?  With hurting you?"  Darien yelled no longer able to contain his frustration with her or his anger over the situation.

"Yes." she spat, one hand snapping up to point at the door.

Darien's temper flared brighter, the pyre verging on a conflagration of epic proportions. Getting to his feet he glared down at her, perhaps unconsciously trying to use his height advantage over her to get her to back down, and shook with barely restrained rage.  That's when he saw it in her eyes; it wasn't anger or hurt or pain, it was fright.  She wasn't upset with him she was terrified... of him.

His anger drained way instantly.  "Baby, Michele, I'm sorry."

She lowered her shaking hand and the vibration translated to the rest of her body causing her to shudder violently in reaction.  "Why Dare?  He was my friend, why would he do this to me?"  The utter confusion in her voice startled him, but he could sympathize since he had no more comprehension of why Jess had done this than she did.

Stepping forward, he sighed in relief when she allowed him to wrap his arms about her. "I don't know 'Chele." He felt a great shudder run through her as her hands came up to rest against his chest. It was a fair bet that she was more than just emotionally wrung out, that she was suffering from exhaustion as well.  Tipping her face up he noted the dark circle under her good eye, the lines about her eyes and mouth, all the little signals that told him she'd been awake for far longer than was healthy.

"When did you last sleep?"

"Uh...Tuesday." she admitted, which made him frown in concern.  "I just couldn't.  I close my eyes and he...and..."

"Hush.  No wonder you're such a mess, too much tequila and not enough unconsciousness."  He nudged her towards the bed that stood a mere foot away from them.

"Darien, I don't think I can." she said, the fear back in her voice.

"Try, please.  I'll be here." She shook her head and attempted to move away, but he held her in place.  "Trust me?"

"Yes." It was faint, but it was also the truth or else she wouldn't have said it.  Between them, trust was never a joke or something to be abused.

He didn't say a word as he pulled back the covers and waited for her to crawl into bed.  It took a couple of minutes during which time she stared at the offending piece of furniture like a rabbit trapped by the headlights of an oncoming car.  When she finally lay down, she curled up in a little ball and gazed up at him in total misery. He slipped in next to her, wrapped his arms about her and pulled her close.

"Darien, you don't..."

He silenced her with a kiss, tasting the salt from her tears on her skin and wishing he could wash away the cause of them as easily as he removed the tears from her cheeks.  His hands slipped under the silky material of her top to gently knead the muscles of her back, his actions intended to do nothing more than relax her and maybe help her begin to heal the far deeper wounds on her heart.

It took a good 30 minutes before she finally released her grip on her fear to slip under and another hour before she stopped jerking awake every few minutes in response to whatever images her unconscious mind kept dredging up and shocking her with.

Darien held onto her the entire time, frightfully aware that he could have lost her if Jess had been just a bit more vicious in his attack.  And the one thing Darien didn't want was to lose her ... ever.


	9. Chapter 9

March 1989 continued 

The night passed slowly for Darien. Even after Michele finally fell into a reasonably normal slumber he found himself wakeful and alternated between pacing the house and sitting by her side to chase away the nightmares that inevitably came.  Darien didn't fall asleep until after 3 AM, curled protectively about Michele.

He awoke around noon feeling like he'd drunk a fifth of scotch the night before and then remembered it had actually been closer to five ounces of tequila.  Grumbling under his breath he slipped out from under 'Chele and shuffled to the bathroom to try and remove the taste of old gym socks from his mouth and reminding him why he hated to drink tequila.  Thankfully his hangover was mild, probably due to the fact that although he'd drunk far too much alcohol her news had kept him stone cold sober in shock.

Once he felt vaguely human he made his way to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee.  He poked through the fridge, but in the end decided to hold off on food, as his stomach was a hard knot of anger and pain.  Carrying the mug of coffee he headed to 'Chele's office, which had originally been the second, smaller bedroom.  He knew the computers up here were connected to the much more powerful ones in the basement laboratory. Her brother Patrick had given her access to some top of the line tech that the average person might not see for years, if ever.

Sitting down at her desk he noted the legal pad with her neat precise handwriting upon it.  He read it and then came back to the first name, which caught his interest.  Picking up the phone he dialed the number next to the name.

"Detective Cortez, please." Darien requested when it was answered at the other end.

"Cortez."

"Yeah, uh, I'm trying to get some info about a friend of mine, Michele MacTierney."  Darien stumbled through the words, finding it awkward to be going to the police for help.

"And you are?" The question held only a hint of suspicion.

"Darien Fawkes.  I want to know if you caught the SOB who hurt 'Chele."  Darien reined in his temper and kept his tone polite.

"Mr. Fawkes, I've been expecting your call.  Miss MacTierney asked me to give you what information I could. I'm afraid we were unable to locate Mr. Stevenson.  In fact, there are a few...oddities to this case."

"Oddities?  What's that supposed to mean?"  Darien asked, confused and wondering if he was getting the runaround.  Darien heard the shuffling of papers before Cortez answered.

"According to the info Miss MacTierney gave me she's known Mr. Stevenson since 1982."

"That sounds about right.  'Chele met him spring semester of her freshman year."  Darien elaborated.

"I've turned up records for a Jessup Stevenson going back to June of 1981, but before that there is nothing."  Cortez told Darien, irritation leaking into the detective's voice.

"What does that mean?"  Darien asked, not liking what he was hearing.  "The guy can't just have appeared out of thin air."

"I agree Mr. Fawkes.  We've run his fingerprints through every available database; police, prison, military, government - you name it.  The man did not exist prior to 1981."  Cortez made it plain he was unhappy with the situation.  "How is she?"

"Crappy.  It would have been nice to give her some good news when she woke up," Darien replied, running a hand through his hair in irritation.

"She slept?  Good.  Dr. Frane, the on staff psychologist, was concerned."  Cortez sounded like he really gave a damn and that this was not just another case to get lost among the thousands he probably dealt with every year.  "Did she contact Zach Somers?"

Darien looked down at the list before him and found the name along with several lines of notes, a couple had been crossed out meaning they were dealt with.  "Yeah.  Says she's got a temporary restraining order and a 10 AM court date on Monday."

"Great.  Zach will treat her right."  There was a pause that clearly gave Darien the impression that Cortez was gathering his thoughts.  "Mr. Fawkes, I'd love to be able to tell you that we're going to catch this bastard, but I have to be honest with you.  This guy is a ghost.  I'm gonna pull what strings I can, get into the new federal DNA database and maybe a few others, but it's not looking good."

Darien sighed, he'd been afraid that would be what he was going to hear. While part of him still felt a near desperate urge to pound Jess into a bloody pulp, the rest knew he had to give up that dream if only for 'Chele and her peace of mind. "Damn. Guess if he stays away from her it'll be better than nothing."

"Truer than you know, Mr. Fawkes.  Tell her I'll see her Monday at court."  Cortez requested.

"Sure.  Thanks for your help."

"Anytime. Good day Mr. Fawkes."  Cortez hung up on his end, but Darien sat there until the loud obnoxious beeping that signaled a phone off the hook convinced him to return the handset to its cradle.  Finding a pen, he wrote down Detective Cortez's message and then picked up his coffee to take a sip.  He made a face at the tepid brew and left the office to head back to the kitchen and get a fresh cup.

He poked his head into 'Chele's room as he walked by to find her still asleep, not that he begrudged her one second of the blessed unconsciousness. After what she'd dealt with she deserved every moment of peace she could find.  He could only imagine what she was going through, and knew he could do nothing more than offer what little help he could and hope that she would accept it so that she might be able to deal with it.

He emptied the cold coffee into the sink, rinsed the cup and then poured some fresh from the pot. He smiled slightly as he added the Sweet-n-Low knowing full well she kept a supply around for him as she rarely used it. He leaned back against the counter as he sipped at the drink, his mind jumping from topic to topic, but settling on none for more than an instant, his frustration building with every trip about the tight circle of thoughts his mind had become entrapped in.

"Damn it!" he shouted as he flung the half-filled cup away from him to smash into the wall next to the doorway, spraying hot coffee and shards of ceramic mug everywhere.

"Well, good morning to you too."  'Chele commented in a rough voice from that very doorway.

"Shit, 'Chele, I'm sorry... again." Darien was more than contrite, since arriving he'd apologized to her more often than he had in the last five years of their friendship.  And he'd needed to say every single one as he had most certainly screwed up his handling of this situation.

Stepping carefully to avoid the worst of the mess that lay across the tiles she walked over to him.  "Don't be.  I've felt like throwing a few things myself."

Moving slowly so as not to startle her he cupped her face in his hands, mindful of the bruise, and lowered his forehead to rest lightly against hers.  "How are you, Truth?"

"Not so good, Dare. Scared he's gonna show up at the door." she told him, her voice cracking on the words, not nearly as unruffled as her reaction to the shattered mug would have seemed to indicate.

"He won't.  He knows he can't handle you face to face.  You're too damn tough." As he hoped, she laughed, if a bit shakily.  "Come on."  With some gentle urging he walked her out of the kitchen and to the living room.  He got her seated on the deeply cushioned sofa in the bright and cheery room.

She groaned as she settled herself down, her knees drawing up as she tipped to lean her entire body along the back of the sofa.

"'Chele?"  Darien asked in concern as he crouched down next to her.

"I'm okay, just a little stiff and sore." She tugged on the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead and smiled.  "You still angry?"

"Yeah, but I'll deal with it. For once I'm gonna hope the cops do their job right."  He took her hand and kissed the back of it, causing her to sigh softly.  "I spoke to Detective Cortez, the news isn't good."

'Chele closed her eyes for a long moment, a look of deep pain crossing her features, the information plainly upsetting to her.  "Later." she pleaded softly as her eyes opened to meet his.

"All right."  He wanted to banish that look of pain in her eyes. Wanted the happiness that he knew belonged there back.  "Look, I can stay for the week if you want."

She shook her head.  "No.  Thank you, but no.  Come back next weekend if you like, but I won't have you missing class over this.  You have all your TA work you're probably blowing off as it is."

Darien ducked his head. "Actually I brought what work I could with me.  Two classes worth of tests to correct."

"Do you enjoy it?  The teaching?" she asked softly.

"I love it," he answered without hesitation. She really smiled then. "Now, how about some real food.  No more liquid meals for you." he admonished gently, not wanting her to beat herself up over going on a binge.

"Jeeze, Darien, I only hit the tequila yesterday afternoon." At his look of disbelief she added.  "What? You think I went to class drunk?"  She shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest as if in defense.

"Class?  Are you nuts?"  Darien settled back to sit cross-legged on the floor and to give her the space she appeared to need at the moment.

She shrugged. "You are not the first to ask me that." She ran a hand through her hair, pausing momentarily with her hair drawn away from her face to show how pale she still was. "I just thought if I got back into my normal routine that it'd be easier.  And it was...at first.  Then the rumors made their way back to me."

"Ah, Shelly," he began only to have her burst out in laughter and totally confusing him. "What?"

"You called me Shelly. You know I hate that name."

Darien snickered, only now realizing that he'd even done it. "Must've picked it up from Celia.  She's the one person you let get away with it."

"True." she agreed.  "You're a lot like her you know.  Your compassion for others, your patience."

He snorted this time.  "Patience, ri-ight.  You need food, you're getting faint from hunger."

"Three weeks to plan a heist, the guard and delivery routines, the security systems, everything memorized, plotted and accounted for and you _don't call that patience?"  'Chele said in all seriousness, which made Darien realize she did indeed have a point._

"Okay, for some things I do."  He wagged a finger at her.  "You tell anyone and I'll have to punish you."  The instant the words were out of his mouth he regretted them.  "Michele, that's not what I meant.  You know I would never hurt you."

She set a hand over his mouth, silencing his poor attempt at an apology.  "Hush.  I know what you meant." Her hand shifted to cup his cheek, her thumb still lying upon his lips. "Now, I seem to recall you saying something about food."

Darien nodded and she removed her thumb to let him reply.  "Hungry?"

"Yeah, I think I might be able to eat." she agreed.  "Nothing fancy though.  There should be some fresh fruit in one of the drawers in the fridge."

Darien knew there was, he'd found it the night before.  "You stay.  I'll clean up the mess I made and bring you something.  'Kay?"  He sighed when she uncurled and wrapped her arms about his neck.

"How can I ever repay you for this?" she whispered.

"You don't.  Friends help each other." He curved his arms loosely about her, giving her a few moments of contact.  Contact that she had no reason to fear. "'Salright, baby, it'll get better."

She broke away a couple of minutes later sniffling and wiping away the newest round of tears.  These were far more normal and lacking the hysteria of last night, though Darien knew they were not likely to be the last.  "I know it will. I just don't think I could get through this without you." she admitted softly.

Darien got to his feet, his chest tight at how much she trusted him, needed him, believed in his ability to help her get through this. But his inherent lack of faith in himself forced a typical response past his lips. "Nah, you'd manage just fine.  I ain't the only person who'd be willing to help you get through this." He quickly headed to the kitchen in hope of forestalling any comeback on her part.  Once he'd stepped out of the living room proper she spoke up, her voice more than loud enough to be clearly heard.

"True, but you're the one I wanted."


	10. Chapter 10

August 1989

When the doorbell rang Darien was practically invisible behind a cloud of steam as he poured the just finished pasta from the huge pot and into the colander sitting in the stainless steel sink.  Kevin's bellow of "I got it" allowed Darien to not have to rush and possibly burn himself through carelessness. Once the pasta was sufficiently drained he added a dash of olive oil and gave it a quick toss before transferring it to the awaiting serving bowl.

"How's the sauce?"  Darien asked with a grin as he caught Celia sneaking a sample with a chunk of the Italian bread she'd baked.

"Wonderful, my dear.  You have mastered the art of opening a jar and heating it to perfection." Celia smiled, her eyes twinkling in merriment.

"I'll have you know it took hours to learn that skill." Darien laughed going along with the joke even though both knew he'd made the sauce from scratch. He was glad she was able to smile, especially now.

Kevin's voice intruded then, "What are you doing here?"

Darien and Celia glanced at each other and together headed out to the front of the house to investigate the cause of Kevin's dismay.  Kevin, however, still stood at the front door, blocking their view of whomever he had spoken to.

"Gee, Kevin, I don't know.  Maybe I'm here for Peter's funeral?" the unseen person sneered and Darien recognized the voice instantly. 

Bounding forward Darien nudged Kevin aside, much to his irritation. "'Chele, what're you doing here?"

'Chele rolled her eyes.

"I called her."  Celia said and 'Chele slipped between the two brothers to go to the older woman and embrace her.

"Are you all right?"  'Chele asked looking over Celia with a sharp eye.

"I'm fine, dear.  Though I hate for you to risk your new job." Celia remained serenely composed.

'Chele shook her head.  "They were very accommodating."

"They don't want to risk losing you."  Darien commented, knowing exactly how true it was.  Just before Michele graduated, the government had doubled their offer making her seriously reconsider the position with the DOD.  Gentech was unable to go any higher, but Hollow Brook dug deeper into their pockets and sweetened their offer.  Since 'Chele was already in favor of them, the additional pay and concessions had swayed her enough to tell the government 'no' and Hollow Brook 'yes.'

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Darien." 'Chele turned to look at the two brothers, one hand still on Celia's shoulder.

"Anytime, babe." Darien replied with a wink, and then turned to shut the front door.

"Darien, don't you think it's inappropriate to call an engaged woman 'babe'?" Kevin admonished as he stepped away from the door and towards the two women.

Almost as one both Darien and 'Chele said, "Huh?"

"You're engaged to Jess Stevenson, or are you married now? It was all over campus just prior to graduation."  Kevin explained as if the two were small children that needed special help.

"Engaged." 'Chele repeated, her voice tight.  "Excuse me, please." She stepped around Celia headed for the back of the house, most likely the kitchen.

"Kevin," Celia shook her head and clicked her tongue at him, her look conveying her obvious disappointment. "How could you?"  With a quick step she hurried after Michele, leaving the brothers alone.

Kevin turned to Darien in confusion. "What did I do?"

"Bro, for a genius you are incredibly stupid." Darien said with a growl of irritation.  "She hasn't seen Jess since March and hopes to never see him again."  Darien ran a hand through his hair, which he'd allowed to grow out since school had ended for the summer. It had quickly achieved chin length.  Taking pity on his brother, who was obviously at a complete loss as to what was going on, Darien sighed and asked, "So which version did you hear?"

Kevin actually looked startled for a second, but quickly composed himself.  "Uh, that Jess had proposed and she'd accepted."  He paused, thinking. "Oh, and that she was pregnant."

Darien groaned, remembering 'Chele telling him about _that rumor hitting campus in early May, just after Jess had called several times in a supposed attempt to ascertain whether or not she was indeed pregnant.  They figured Jess had been watching her while avoiding the cops still looking for him and had seen her make trips to several local doctors. She had surmised that in Jess' warped mind that if she was indeed pregnant she would then __have to marry him._

"Kev, does she look pregnant to you?" Darien forced himself to remain calm.

"Well, no, but..."

"No buts, Kev.  Yes, the SOB proposed, and when 'Chele told him no he raped her."  Darien's voice was icy. "I'm guessing you failed to hear _those rumors or notice her walking around campus for two weeks with half her face purple."_

Kevin's glasses came off and he began to clean them nervously with the end of his tie.  "Shit, I didn't know.  Michele and I didn't see much of each other that last semester."  Kevin actually sounded as shocked as he looked, his fair complexion paling as he realized Darien was telling the truth about the situation.

Turning away from Darien, Kevin slid his glasses back in place and followed after 'Chele and Celia, but Darien stopped him before he'd gone three steps with a hand planted firmly on Kevin's shoulder.

"Whoa, where d'you think you're going?"

"To apologize, of course."  Kevin made it plain that it should have been obvious.

"No you're not.  Leave her alone for a while."  Darien insisted.  "Do it later."

At first Kevin looked like he was going to argue, but something in Darien's eyes must have made Kevin change his mind.  "Sure.  How... how is she doing?"

"Better now that she's moved into her new house in Escondido," Darien answered, relieved that Kevin chose not to fight over an apology that would do more harm than good right at this moment.  "Getting away from Pasadena made quite a difference."

He didn't mention that it had taken four phone number changes and some very high tech gear from her brothers Michael and Patrick to set up a system that automatically logged and traced every call even if she didn't answer.  The police had just missed catching Jess twice before he'd gotten the hint and taken off for the hills, leaving her alone... for now.  It had been two months since she'd last heard from Jess, but even she didn't think it was the last and she'd remained constantly on alert.  She'd even gone back to the dojo and earned her black belt in karate, though it would probably do little good if Jess suddenly reappeared.

Michele was just beginning to see the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, but she was still fragile emotionally.  The entire ordeal had changed her, in some ways subtle, in some blatantly obvious, and Darien had yet to decide if those changes were for the better or not.  Only time would tell, he supposed.  His few attempts at suggesting she see a psychologist were met with firm refusals. Her argument of not needing someone to tell her why she was reacting the way she was when she already knew, was hard to refute, so Darien had just fumbled along and done the best he could to aid in her recovery.

"And how would you know this?"  Kevin asked in some curiosity, which failed to hide the disdain in his voice.

"'Cause I've spent every weekend with her since it happened."  Darien sighed not wanting to remember the hell some of those weekends had been.  "Look, I know you two don't always see eye-to-eye..."

Kevin chuckled, "Much like us, Darien. You two have always had a connection I've never understood.  I _am her colleague, her friend and even..." He paused, shaking his head as if unsure how exactly to put what he wanted to say into words.  "I'm not going to be around as much, Darien.  My job..."_

Darien stiffened, not the least bit surprised by Kevin's comment.  Darien could think of a baker's dozen of times in the last few months Kevin had canceled plans in the name of his _work.  "Got it, Kev.  Your all important government job comes first."  Darien stepped away, following after 'Chele and Celia whom he could hear talking in the kitchen._

"Darien, I'm here now aren't I?"  Kevin asked in complete exasperation.

"Yeah, this time," Darien responded as he continued to walk away.

*     *     *

The hushed murmur of voices by the black crows who circled about the confines of the house like vultures over carrion only reaffirmed Darien's opinion of the ritualistic processes of death.  Put simply: funerals sucked.

He eeled his way through the crowd, nodding to people he knew and accepting the condolences of others until he was able to escape the overcrowded main rooms of the house for the relative island of calm that was the kitchen.  He discovered 'Chele, whom he'd lost sight of over an hour ago due to the fact the vast majority of the people towered over her tiny form. She was bent over the open oven, examining the contents of one of the casserole dishes that had been set inside to warm.  The skirt of her black dress had ridden up revealing not only that she was wearing nylons that came to only mid-thigh, but also the silky black garters holding them in place.  He felt a sudden lust wash over him and the urge to find out if garters were all she had on under the snug-fitting dress.

Pushing those, to him, very inappropriate thoughts aside he cleared his throat and asked, "Need a hand?"

Replacing the lid on the casserole, she slid the shelf back into the oven and closed the door.  Stripping off the hot mitts she tossed them onto an empty spot on the counter.  "What I need are my meds, but I don't wanna run the gauntlet to get them." she replied as her hands came up to rub her temples.

Going to her, he brushed a curl of hair that had escaped the confinement of the fancy hairstyle it had been forced into that morning and took over gently massaging her temples.  "Bad?" He kept his voice soft, knowing that her hearing often became hypersensitive when the headaches flared up.

"It will be," she grumbled.

"Come on."  Urging her into movement her directed her out the back door and onto the shade covered porch.

"Darien, I can't.  Celia..."

"Has 30 other people to console her.  I think she can spare you for a little while."  He got her as far as the steps that led down to the lawn before she stopped and stubbornly refused to move.  "'Sides you know what Celia would do if she knew you had a migraine."

'Chele sighed.  "She'd fuss and worry and pack me off to bed heedless of her own pain."

"Exactly.  Now, do you want the pills or the... shot."  Darien knew the migraines had gotten progressively worse since March and had only complicated her emotional recovery from the rape.

"Umm, the pills.  I think I can head the worst of this one off at the pass."  'Chele answered after taking a moment to assess her condition.

"You relax, I'll get them."  He paused at the door and looked back at her.  "You look beautiful."

'Chele gave him a lopsided grin.  "Thanks, but I am far too much the tom-boy to ever be comfortable in a dress."  Then she flinched, her headache making its presence known and reminding her who was in control at the moment.

"Sit. I'll be right back."  Once she'd sunk down onto the top step to lean back against the post, a groan escaping from her, Darien went inside. He quickly understood why she had referred to it as a _gauntlet.  If the press of bodies was nearly overwhelming to him, it would have been claustrophobic for her.  No wonder she'd fled for the relative sanctuary of the kitchen.  About every third person just had to stop and talk to him for a couple of minutes until he was completely frustrated and ready to tear his hair out.  When Mrs. Gallagher started talking about how wonderful Peter had looked at the viewing the evening before, Darien excused himself, citing the need to use the "little boys room."  He bolted for the staircase and didn't slow down until in 'Chele's room with the door shut firmly behind him._

Instead of the attached bathroom he headed for the smaller of the two bureaus in the room, knowing she preferred to keep her medications out of the usual places, as some were technically less than legal.  No doctor could prescribe her the pills that helped control the headaches; it had taken her and Peter months of trial and error before coming up with the original version and he'd helped her modify it over the years until the medications had reached their current forms.  Until her recent move she had kept herself supplied by creating them in her basement lab, but she was not yet completely set up in her new home and was currently relying on an oversupply to get her through until she was up and running again.

Darien sorted through the various bottles he found, many of which were nothing more than common over the counter vitamin and herbal supplements until he found the opaque bottle with nothing but Greek letters on the plain label.  Next to it sat the black case he knew contained the syringes and vials with even more potent medication.  He'd once asked her what it was the stuff did and she'd tried to explain, but he'd been lost within seconds and had been forced to resort to the old Oreo routine to get her to stop.  About all he'd understood was that it reduced neurotransmitter function and killed pain with a fancy version of codeine, beyond that he was out of his depth.

Putting the bottle into his pants pocket he slid the drawer shut and left the room.  At the top of the stairs he realized he wanted no part of having make his way through that crowd again and detoured back to the former playroom.  Over the years it had become a sitting room with a TV, radio, several bookcases and comfortable chairs to relax in.  He and 'Chele had wasted many an evening up in this room and on the porch roof just outside the window.  The window that he then he went to and slid open.  

He took off his suit jacket and tie, then rolled up the sleeves on the crisp white oxford shirt he wore he and climbed out the window, making his way across the gently sloped roof.  He quickly came to the realization that the smooth soles of the scuffed dress shoes he wore were not recommended footwear for climbing roofs.  Skidding his way over to the tree that had served him well over the years when he felt the need to escape the confines of this house and his family or to just cause some trouble in this sleepy mountain town, he grasped the conveniently placed branch like he'd done a thousand times before. The branch had done little more than grow thicker over the years, his own height pacing the upward growth of the tree. He swung out to place his feet on another one that hung just below the level of the roof.

"Darien, what the hell are you doing?"

Glancing down he could see 'Chele leaning out over the porch railing and looking up at him. The noise from his clamber had obviously alerted her to his location.  "Avoiding yet another round of inane chattering with people I barely know."  Shifting, he lowered himself down to sit on the railing and dug the pill bottle out of his pocket. He couldn't help but notice the way her hands shook as she took it from him as well as her struggle to open it.

"Here, let me."  Taking the bottle from her, he easily unscrewed the top. Holding her hand steady he shook two of the surprisingly small pills onto her palm.

She quickly dry swallowed them with a grimace.  "Thanks."

Closing the bottle he stuffed it back into his pocket then reached out to caress her cheek.  "You waited too long again."

'Chele chuckled softly.  "Don't I always?"

"But you shouldn't." he admonished gently.  "I swear, some days you need a caretaker."

"You want the job?" she asked facetiously.

"Hmm, how about for the day?"  Darien suggested in all seriousness.  He knew he was not dealing with things too well at the moment, but he could see she was doing even worse.

"Sounds good to me," she agreed with a tired sigh.  Kicking off her shoes, her height dropped by several inches and he watched her wiggle her toes on the smooth wood of the porch.

Hearing voices in the kitchen he turned sideways on the railing and then dropped the few feet to the lawn below.  Setting a finger to his lips to keep her silent he waved for her to join him.

With a grin she hopped over the rail to gracefully drop beside him, her knees flexing to absorb the impact and reminding him that no matter how dainty and delicate she might look that there was most definitely a core of iron beneath the silk.  Taking her hand he led her back to the stand of trees in the far corner of the yard where the hammock still hung under the canopy of leaves, a tiny haven of peace and tranquility.  Just in time, it turned out, as several people walked out onto the porch carrying plates and cups, the obligatory feasting in honor of the dead having begun.

'Chele reached up and freed her hair from its confinement, after months of letting it grow unchecked the curls now fell to her mid-back like a glorious sheet of flame.  "Too many memories?" she suddenly asked, startling him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets to hide his discomfort he continued watching the small crowd gathering on the porch and beginning to spill out onto the yard.  "What makes you say that?"

She was behind him then, her arms curving about his waist and her forehead pressing against his back. "'Cause I know you.  You're feeling lost and hurt and wondering what you could have done better over the years."

Darien sagged in her hold, the two of them supporting each other for the moment.  "I thought I'd have more time.  Graduate, get a job, make him proud of who I am finally, instead of at a loss for what to do with me."

"Ah, D, he was proud, more than you realize."  'Chele told him.

Darien just shook his head. "See, even you knew him better than me." There was more than a hint of jealousy in his tone.

"No, just a different perspective is all.  Mainly because I wasn't family -- not really, anyway.  You and Kevin were both sons to him. It just took him longer to find common ground with you."

Darien didn't say anything for several minutes, a frown creasing his features, as he thought about what she had said.

"I'm gonna miss him, Dare." Her hold on him tightened and Darien grunted in reaction, as her grip was more than strong enough to cause him some discomfort. "After my parents died Pete and Celia stepped in and gave me someone to turn to."

"They were your legal guardians for a while right?"  Darien vaguely recalled something like that being set up in the months following her parents' deaths.

"Yes, but they also became my friends and Peter my... colleague.  I could go to him about things I could trust no one else with."  'Chele's hold didn't loosen in the least.  "I don't know if I'd've been able to get through the last few years without his help."

Darien sighed softly knowing it was true.  Only Peter, and possibly Doc Anthony, knew the details about what was wrong with 'Chele, at least as far as anyone could know.  "Why've you never told me everything about...about what's wrong with you?  Is it just that you think I'm too stupid to understand?"

"No." she said at a hoarse whisper.  "It's too dangerous."

'_Dangerous?" Darien thought in surprise.  '__What could be dangerous about...'  "Chele?"_

"No, dear heart, I won't tell you.  Not now.  Not when I'm already afraid of losing you." Her voice was filled with fear, a sound he'd come to recognize over the last few months.  The hate he felt for the person who'd put it there, made fear a part of her every day, had only deepened, banked for a hoped for vengeance one day in the future.

His hands came out of his pockets to rest atop hers.  "Ah hell, babe, I'm not going anywhere."

She shuddered.  "My head knows that, but my heart... I just need to hold on for a while, okay?"

"Sure, but how 'bout we move someplace more comfortable."  He turned his head slightly and lowered his voice.  "I'd kinda like to hold on for a while too."

"Shit.  I am a complete idiot," she grumbled at herself as she released him and stepped back.

Darien faced her with a hint of a grin on his lips.  "Wow, never expected to hear that from you."  She was correct with her sudden realization that he was having just as difficult a time with this as she was.  With a hand on her shoulder he encouraged her over to the hammock and together they sprawled upon it.  Darien lay on his back one arm flung over his head and the other wrapped about her, while she curled on her side with her head resting on his chest. 

"I don't remember my mom's funeral, don't think they let me and Kev go considering we were in the care of Social Services at the time.  It took a while for them to locate Peter and make arrangements for them to come and get us."

He pulled her closer needing the contact for the moment.

"They tried to keep me from Kelly's funeral, but I snuck out and went anyway.  All those people saying what a horrible tragedy it was when they all knew the truth, knew her bastard of a father had driven her to it.  Eleven years old and so battered physically and emotionally that she saw death as her only way out."  Darien stopped, practically choking on his words, the pain and anger coming back as if it had just happened yesterday.

"Darien, I'm so sorry.  And me dumping all my crap on you the last few months hasn't helped any. "  'Chele's tone was truly apologetic, honestly upset about needing him so much recently with so little return on her part.

"Don't be, 'cause I met you just a few months later and ... and I think you saved me from a really dark place I was in."  It became obvious by her silence that she was unsure how to respond to his quietly spoken confession.  Eventually, though, she found her tongue.

"Looks like we're even on that score."  Her words were soft as her fingers began to nervously tap out a rhythm on his sternum.

They lay there in the dappled sunshine and drowsy heat of the afternoon, just watching the ebb and flow of people about the yard and quietly thankful that no one seemed inclined to intrude on them.  It was Darien catching sight of Kevin, who had miraculously shed his jacket and was talking to Doc Anthony, which gave him the next topic.

"Hey, 'Chele, did you notice the guy Kev and Doc Anthony were talking to at the cemetery?"  

Her hand paused its random motion atop his hip. "The, ummm, rather large gentleman in the dark suit and glasses?"

Darien chuckled.  "Yeah, that'd be the one.  You know who he is?"

'Chele shifted, propping her head up with her arm to better look over the yard, and with eerie timing Kevin turned his head and gave Darien a nod of acknowledgement, almost as if he knew why Darien and Michele had wandered off.

"I'm sure I've seen him before with both Pete and Curtis, but I have no idea who he is.  I think he's from back when Pete worked for the DOI."  'Chele answered.  "Looks like Kev got an introduction, you could always ask him."

"Yep, I could."  Darien wanted to say more, but found himself unable to do anything more than groan as 'Chele lowered her face to nuzzle the side of his neck.  For the moment he was unable to stop her, wanting the contact as badly as she appeared to.  He even understood the reaction, the primitive need to reaffirm one's connection to life in the most basic way possible.

Rolling onto his side, which started the hammock swinging, he buried a hand in her hair and found her lips with his own. For long minutes he lost himself in the sensations, once again stunned at how easily she could distract him, could heal the ache deep with in his heart with a simple touch, could show him how much she needed him without a single word exchanged.

When it became obvious they were getting in far too deep for their current location, Darien pulled away.  "Sweet thing, even if I thought you were ready for this, it's still not the right place.  I much prefer having sex without an audience."

Michele stifled a laugh, some of the sexual tension easing between them, but he still caught that shiver of fear that ran through her, proving that she was still not ready to take that final leap of faith and trust.  "Damn it.  You must be sick of this by now.  I just... I want to, ya know, so bad it drives me crazy some nights, but I can't.  I hit this wall and I..."

"Stop it, Michele.  Yeah, you've been running hot and cold, but I understand.  Come on, if I was upset I'd tell ya, right?"  Darien did his best to reassure her.  Given that she'd been quite effectively driving him nuts for years, he was perfectly capable of dealing with the situation and waiting until she was ready.  "'Sides, I kinda like the bouts of spontaneous tongue wrestling."

"I've noticed."  She kissed him lightly, one hand surreptitiously running over the evidence of his response and making him growl softly.  "And I can pretty much guarantee you'll be the second to know when I _am_ ready."

Unable to fight the urge he set a hand over hers and thrust slowly against her palm.  He was oddly pleased when her eyes slid shut and she moaned quietly.  "The second?  You seeing someone I don't know about?"  It was supposed to be humorous, but 'Chele had curved her hand about him to take control of the motion, and even through the intervening layers of clothing it was more than enough to make his tone anything but humorous.

"Nope, just you.  I just figured I'd be the first to know." she laughed, which helped to draw him away from that edge he was swiftly approaching regardless of the fact her hand had yet to stop its slow movements.

"Girl, do you know you drive me crazy?

"Uh, huh." she acknowledged with a smile.  "You have the same effect on me in case you hadn't noticed."

With a mental groan he moved her hand away from its target and twined their fingers together. "A smile from you and I'm horny."

"The day I don't make you horny is the day you've fallen in love with someone else." she stated with an unreadable look in her eyes.

Darien laughed it off.  "What?  You mean horniness is _not love?  I'm shocked."  She freed her hand and wagged a finger threateningly at him.  He captured it and pulled it down to his lips, kissing her fingers one at a time.  "What about you?  Ever been in love?"_

She lowered her eyes, looking anywhere but at Darien as she answered, "For a very long time."

Darien was rather shocked to learn she was in love with someone and he didn't know about it, that she hadn't told him.  He was even more surprised to find himself feeling hurt and jealous, but he shoved it away.  They were friends, friends with benefits, but friends first and foremost.   She was under no obligation to inform him of every aspect of her life and relationships.  "He must be one lucky guy."

'Chele's eyes locked onto his at the poorly hidden pain in his comment.  "He is, dear one, he most definitely is."


	11. Chapter 11

__

"A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future and accepts you today just the way you are."

Proverbs 17:17

October 1994

Hands clutched tightly about the brown paper bag that held all his worldly possessions, Darien listened to the clank and rattle of the gates as they slid open. The chain link fence, the razor wire, the armed guards, none of it could dull the sudden joy and relief that shot through him. Passing through the final gate and onto the dusty ground outside the fencing, he took in a deep breath of air, of freedom. The sunlight on this side of the fence just seemed brighter, the air cleaner, his step lighter than it had been in long months.

Striding forward he glanced about the parking area in hopes of seeing the person his lawyer had assured him would be here to pick him up, but saw no one. Pausing at the edge of the tarmac he shifted the bag and sighed.

"Well, guess I should be glad it's not Kevin. I'm not in the mood for another detailing of how I'm wasting my life." Darien muttered to himself as he debated the merits of walking the roughly 30 miles through the near desert to San Diego on his own. A long low wolf-whistle made him whip his head to the right and squint his eyes against the glare to try to ascertain the source.

"Howdy stranger, need a lift?" The voice was unfamiliar with a heavy Texas drawl, but he walked in the direction anyway. Once past the institutional white 15-passenger van he could see the lone figure leaning back against a beat up Jeep Wrangler.

Dusty boots were topped by faded and broken-in blue jeans with one knee nearly worn through. A dark gray work shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the white of the shirt beneath it, but both the face and the hair were obscured by the straw cowboy hat tipped low over the forehead of the owner. The hat was in need of a good burning based on the amount of detritus he could see imbedded in it even from this distance.

Curious and pretty much out of options he approached the person with a wary eye. Once about 10 feet away the sensation of eerie familiarity, no matter that he knew no one male or female who favored the Southern California cowpoke look, washed over him. Catching sight of the bumper sticker '_Always being right is an awesome responsibility'_ on the left rear panel of the Jeep, Darien realized whom it was standing there, especially since he'd given the owner of the vehicle the bumper sticker as a joke.

With a soft growl of irritation he swiftly closed the distance. "'Chele, what the hell are you doing here?" When she did nothing more than kick at some nonexistent pebbles by her feet, he reached out and removed the hat, tossing it into the cargo area of the jeep. The vivid red hair that he could now see confirmed that it was indeed his longtime friend standing slouched before him. "Michele."

Her head came up and he saw the lack of a smile on her lips and the glint of anger in her eyes, but what he wasn't prepared for was the fist that lashed out and caught him on the shoulder.

"Hey!" he shouted in pain as he dropped the bag, his few meager possessions headed for the hot tarmac at their feet, only to be deftly caught by his attacker and held onto as if precious cargo. "What was that for?" he complained, rubbing at the spot that would surely blossom into a bruise. She'd damn near hit him at full power and it had _hurt_.

"Eight months, Darien. Eight _freakin'_ months. Did it ever once occur to you I might get worried?" she snapped, her temper making itself known. "First, I fill your machine with messages, then it gets disconnected. I go by your place scared out of my mind to find someone else living there and the manager saying only that you up and walked out one day. Damn it, Darien."

Darien closed his eyes and sighed as a sudden guilt washed over him. He remained silent for several minutes as he tried to figure out how to explain his reasoning to her. He heard her shift, the paper bag making a distinctive rustling sound, and when he opened his eyes it was no longer in her hands. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she glared up at him.

"Look, I just didn't want to get you mixed up in my mess. You have a reputation to maintain and don't need the likes of me screwing with it."

"Your mess." she sneered. "You could have said you were in trouble beyond some minor cash flow issues. I would have helped." The anger in her eyes was swiftly being replaced by hurt. "You let me worry about _my_ reputation."

Darien shook his head. "They were minor problems ... til I got caught, that is." He raised a hand intending to set it on her shoulder, but when she stiffened he altered the move to run his hand through his hair. He'd been letting it grow for quite a while and it currently fell to his shoulder blades. He was oddly proud of the fact, though admittedly, prison had done little good for it.

"Damn it, D, do you know how much harder it's gonna be for you to find work now that you have this on your record?" Chele sounded incredibly frustrated, but Darien was still shocked at her words. She'd been the one person who never used his thieving against him. 

"You think I don't know that?" he snarled. "I'd've been better off if Kevin had picked me up. Least I was specting the lecture from him."

Michele heaved a huge sigh and tipped her head down to stare at her boots, no longer willing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Darien. You're right, it's not my place to say a damn thing." One hand came up as if in supplication. "I just want to see you happy, y'know."

"I know," Darien responded softly, more than willing to forgive her for venting her concern. Reaching out he grasped her chin and lifted her head so he could look her in the eyes. "And I'm sorry for worrying you. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do." She shook her head slightly, but didn't argue. "Can we get outta here? Eight months is one lifetime too many at a place like this."

Chele chuckled. "Yeah, get in."

Minutes later they were flying down Alta Road away from the R. J. Donovan Correctional Facility, kicking up dust and leaving a trail that could be seen for miles. Darien had high hopes he'd never see this place or any of its brethren ever again. Once they'd turned onto Otay Mesa Darien spoke up loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing past them. "How'd you find out I was in?"

"I cornered Kevin and made him tell me." Chele answered glancing over at him.

Darien shifted a bit, sliding the seat back and reclining it so he could stretch his legs out. "He wasn't supposed to."

"Tell me about it." Chele grumbled, bitterness clearly evident in her tone. "Between Celia saying he's fine' and Kev's professional run-around I was ready to hurt someone to find you."

Darien was kind of impressed that she was willing to cause others bodily harm for him, which made him wonder what exactly made her corner Kev and force him to spill his guts. "What made you go after Kev?"

"Do you know what happens when you don't check your P. O. Box for six months?" She reached behind the seat and came up with a bottle of water, which she handed to him.

It took a moment for her question to sink in, but when it did he groaned aloud. "Crap." His mouth was suddenly bone dry and he spun the cap off the bottle and took a long swallow.

"Nice to know I'm your emergency contact," Chele said, her tone drier than the desert about them.

__

That had not been part of the plan. It was one thing to teach her a few tricks of the trade; it was another to get her directly involved in one of his escapades. He hadn't been kidding about trying to protect her reputation; she was well known and respected in scientific circles. She'd had invites to speak at symposiums and conferences all over the world about her work at Hollow Brook and her continuation of her parents' theories. When he'd made her his emergency contact he'd never once considered the possibility that she might end up with stolen goods.

"Uh, where ... umm ... are they now?" Darien asked hesitantly.

She looked over at him with this superior sneer on her features that reminded him eerily of Kevin. "I turned them over to the police, of course. I mean, someone as prominent as myself can't afford to be associated with something so common as _stealing_." Followed by an audible sniff of disdain before she focused her full attention back on the road.

It took him three tries to get the words out, he was so ... stunned. "You what?" He could feel the blood draining away from his face to pool in a cold, hard lump in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" She glanced over at him a couple of times, her look cool and composed, while he could only slump in his seat and grind his teeth in complete dismay.

Her hand settled on his thigh and squeezed gently. "Darien..."

"What?" He didn't even bother to look at her, the one thing... make that two things keeping him going for the last eight months – the prize and her – were both gone. Somewhere, somehow during his absence she'd become just like Kevin, judgmental and self-important.

"Dare, sweet thing, I'm kidding." 

Darien's eyes flew open and he twisted his head almost hard enough to give him whiplash to stare at her. "Kidding?"

"Yes, Darien. Your pretty baubles are in a safety deposit box waiting for you to claim them." Chele told him, grinning broadly.

"You... You..." He set a hand atop hers. "That was cruel. Well done, but cruel."

"Hey, I learned from the best." she reminded him. "Now, you are going to let me spoil you rotten for the rest of the day. Starting with some lunch. Okay?"

"'Chele, you don't have to do that." Considering he'd practically vanished off the face of the planet he really didn't want her going to any trouble on his account. It was going to be tough enough starting over; he had the clothes he was wearing, his few possessions in the paper bag and the $356.49 he'd made working in the prison laundry. It would take time to fence the jewels so he'd be scrounging for just about everything until he had done so.

"Darien, I want to. I haven't seen you in forever, indulge me, please." She shifted her hand until their fingers were twined together. "I missed you."

Darien felt a sudden rush of emotion run through him; he'd more than missed her, it had been a long and lonely journey for the last eight months. Kevin had been openly hostile to Darien, making sure that what little grudgingly given help had come with a steep price only to be surpassed by the utter disdain Kevin showed as he tried to distance himself from Darien. Celia had been ... mystifying, almost as if unsure what was happening. Darien had called her regularly to assure her he was all right, but it was as if she was unable to comprehend what was going on. He was terribly afraid his aunt was drifting slowly down that road to inevitable senility. She was sharp as ever about some things, but others ... it was as if she was hearing or seeing something completely different from the reality.

"'Chele, I'm sorry about not telling you what was going on." He now realized she might have made his time in prison pass far more quickly even if they had done nothing more than exchange letters during that time, and he decided right then and there he wouldn't let it happen again. "I won't do that again. Well, unless absolutely necessary," he amended, hedging his bets like always. "But I will try to stay in contact no matter what, okay?"

"Jeeze, I can't imagine a reason it'd be necessary, but sure. That means _if_ you get into trouble again, whatever it may be, you call me and let me do what I can to help. Got me?" She punctuated her words by squeezing his hand until it was painful and he had to repress the urge to yelp. 

"I got it." He lifted their hands and began to kiss her fingers until her excruciating hold on him finally relaxed, but he didn't let go. In fact, he was trying damn hard not to allow his hand to go wandering or encourage hers to do so. Eight plus months with no female companionship was now putting a severe strain on his libido and at this point he didn't even know if she was free of entanglements. She could be firmly entrenched in a relationship with some guy he'd never even met and he wouldn't know a damn thing about it. He forced himself to worry about it later. She was here now and that was the important thing.

As they came to the exit for I-5 she untangled her hand from his and downshifted the Jeep for the onramp. A mile or so later they passed the bright green sign proclaiming _San Diego 10 Miles_ and as they topped some of the higher ridges the familiar high-rises that shouted _home_ to him came into view.

Traffic being surprisingly light, they made it into downtown with little trouble and Chele deftly navigated through the maze of one-way streets to her chosen destination. Still, Darien was a bit bemused when she pulled into the parking garage at Horton Plaza and chose a spot on the third level.

"Why are we here?" Darien asked as she turned off the engine.

"First is food. I figure it's been a while since you've had a decent burger." Darien stomach rumbled audibly in response, which caused Chele to chuckle as she got out of the Jeep. "See, part of you agrees with me." She proceeded to pull out the soft-top and snap it into place; while it wouldn't stop a persistent thief, it would discourage them a bit.

Darien climbed out and assisted her. "First? What have you got planned?" He tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but was pretty sure he failed miserably.

"You'll just have to trust me, now won't you?" she smirked as she slung her all-purpose bag over her shoulder. It wasn't a purse so much as a modified backpack that went with her everywhere.

Darien glanced down at his current ensemble and suddenly felt very uncomfortable, the dark khakis he wore hadn't been in the best of condition eight months ago and were now looking more than a touch threadbare. The ancient dress shirt and sports coat had been those he'd worn the day he was sentenced and he'd have been happy never to see them again. The tie from that day was currently a crumpled heap in the bottom of the bag and would probably be thrown out as soon as he had the chance. "'Chele, maybe we should go somewhere else. 8th Street Diner or the like."

Chele reached into the Jeep and pulled out the straw hat and planted it firmly atop her head before locking the doors. "Darien, it's a mall and I'm not exactly dressed for the opera myself." She stepped around the vehicle to stand in front of him.

"Since when did you go all urban cowboy anyway?" Darien asked, reaching out to tip the hat back so he could see her eyes. Once again they seemed to be lighter than he remembered, only the faintest hint of blue remaining in the gray.

She shrugged. "You know my style is eclectic and ever-changing. Unlike you, retro-man."

Darien snickered as they as one turned to walk towards the entrance to the mall proper. "There is nothing wrong with my style."

"Never said there was, bub, and it's most definitely you. Hate to say it, but we're not gonna find too much to suit you here. Fraid you'll have to deal with the old stand by of jeans and t-shirts." She nudged him, her elbow connecting with his hip, and he draped an arm about her shoulders.

"James Dean look." He mused aloud as they made their way through the doors and past the first of the stores. "I can live with that. It'll need a leather jacket though." 

"We'll see."


	12. Chapter 12

****

October 1994 

continued

Five hours and dozens of shopping bags later, Darien, kit out in new clothes from head to toe — Levi's, white tee, Nike high-tops and a gorgeous black leather jacket — was strolling languidly out of the mall and back towards the Jeep. Chele had finally decreed they had enough supplies to get Darien through the next few days. Darien had nearly balked when he saw the price of the jacket even as he tried not to drool at the delicate and supple kid leather it was made of. All Chele had done was say "Happy Birthday," and waved for the clerk to ring up the purchases.

She drove several blocks and pulled into a parking lot sporting signs stating "Reserved for the Patrons of Nouveau", _the_ swankiest high-end salon in the city. It cost a hundred bucks to get in the front door and you did _not_ get in without an appointment.

"Michele, what is going on?" his voice was full of suspicion.

She reached out and tugged on a lock of his hair. "Gorgeous as it is, my dear, its in desperate need of an update. Girls are not going to flock to you if your hair looks prettier than theirs."

Darien whimpered. "Not the hair."

Chele snickered. "Jeeze Dare, I get my hair cut more often than you do." Giving him a gentle nudge, which encouraged him to slide out of the vehicle.

"Yeah, well, I don't risk flambéing my hair daily at my job," he countered as he trailed after he towards the entrance.

"That Bunsen burner incident was not my fault," she responded, then paused with a hand on the door. "Look, just let them take a look at it. If nothing else you can just get a trim and some pampering, okay?" 

Darien was surprised at the hint of hurt in her tone and wondered what else was going on that she wasn't saying anything about. "Uh, sure. It does need some help, considering what it's suffered through recently."

Instead of responding she simply swung open the door and walked inside, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to follow. He was reluctant to admit the real reason he didn't want to do anything with the hair. Part of it was pride, he really did love his hair long. The rest was out of sheer stubbornness, though there were days he'd been tempted to chop it all off. He'd discovered right quick that his looks combined with the long hair made him an easy target inside and he'd found himself in more than one tight situation during those long months. A slight shiver ran through him and he forced the memories away before they were more than a faint presence on the mental horizon.

They not had gone more than a couple of steps inside when an impeccably dressed and coifed woman came towards them wearing a brilliant smile. "Ah, Miss MacTierney, good to have you back." The woman, whose nametag proudly proclaimed _Melinda_, took both of Michele's hands into her own and looked her over appraisingly. "Not a business trip this time, I see, and you brought a friend." Melinda fixed her gaze on Darien and gave him the once over. Based on the look in her eyes, she liked what she saw.

"Pure pleasure this time. In fact, the appointment is for my friend here." Chele freed her hands and set one on Darien's arm. "Darien Fawkes."

"Yes, I can see why." Melinda observed, making Darien want to cringe and run away. It was almost enough to make him completely forget his astonishment over the fact that this was apparently not Michele's first visit. "I believe Katrina would be best suited to you, Mr. Fawkes." Then she turned to Chele. "She's very good at gentling the skittish ones." The comment proved she was fully aware of his reluctance to go through with this.

Darien sighed and resigned himself to being fussed over and, most likely, persuaded into having his hair cut.

Almost as if sensing his partial capitulation, Chele leaned in close to him. "Darien, I promise it'll be nothing too drastic. Okay?"

Darien nodded and then they both followed Melinda to Katrina's workstation. Introductions were swift and Darien quickly found himself divested of the new jacket and sitting in the chair with a soft black cloth draped over him. 

After about five minutes of examining his hair with voluble mutterings and tskings, Katrina met his reflected eyes in the mirror. "It's a mess, Mr. Fawkes, split ends, dry and very damaged. In truth, I'd recommend cutting it all off and allowing it to grow out again."

Darien's shoulders slumped in dismay; part of him had known this was going to be the verdict and it was now time for him to face the reality. "How short?"

Normally I'd suggest shaving it off and starting fresh, but I can see you are quite attached to the hair. I might be able to salvage the layers closer to the scalp with a deep conditioning treatment." Katrina explained with a bit of a frown.

Chele appeared beside him then. "Darien, do you trust me?"

He turned his head to meet her eyes and he could easily see she was well aware with his dismay at the situation. "Yeah, just not too short, all right?"

She gave him a small smile. "You'll be as gorgeous as ever, I promise. Sides, with the way your hair grows, you can have it back in no time at all."

Darien couldn't deny that; his hair did tend to grow incredibly fast considering how thick it was. But he still only managed a nod in response.

Pulling Katrina aside, they began a rapid-fire discussion with much hand waving and esoteric words that Darien was unsure of the meaning of, as they seemed to be part of that language only women understood. After a couple minutes in the huddle they broke away with Katrina striding purposefully towards her table, where she began pulling open drawers and gathering the necessary tools of her trade. "All right Mr. Fawkes, I am going to cut your hair first and then do the conditioning treatment. We'll make any final adjustments after that."

Chele moved to stand between Darien and his reflection. 

"Now what?" he whined, making Chele chuckle softly.

"Just a suggestion; close your eyes." He began to protest, but she silenced him by leaning forward and kissing him lightly. "You know you'll just get all whimpery if you watch. We've got eight months of catching up to do and you've little need for your eyes to do so," she reminded him, one hand snaking beneath the cloth to settle over his. 

"Just so long as you agree to burn that hat later," he challenged.

With a snicker she nodded. "You can do it yourself, if you like."

Taking a deep breath Darien forced himself to relax and shut his eyes. They nearly flew open in surprise when she gently kissed each eyelid and then moved to linger over his lips, her fingers tracing lightly over the back of his hand in a way that was damn erotic.

Seconds later she was gone, ghost fingers still tracing across the back of his hand as the sound of snipping commenced. Katrina worked swiftly, spritzing the areas with scented water before combing and cutting. 

"Eight months? Long time not to see each other." Katrina commented cheerfully, beginning the seemingly obligatory round of small talk. "What happened, a stay in prison?"

Though obviously intended as a joke, for what would an ex-con be doing in a place as up-scale as this, Darien chose to answer truthfully. "Yep, for B&E."

The scissors stilled their ravaging of his hair. "You're kidding?"

"Nope. Worst case of bad luck I've ever had. Cops responding to a break-in alarm for another apartment caught me on the way out, there's only so much you can do while dangling from the side of a building. The vic didn't identify me in a line up, but they figured out I'd been ... busy elsewhere in the building," Darien deadpanned, wishing he could see the look on Katrina's face. He knew 'Chele would follow his lead and play the woman, even if it was with the truth, for as long as they could manage.

The sharp sound of the scissors returning to their work began again. "Umm, did you not actually steal anything?" Katrina sounded truly curious and only a touch flustered by the revelation.

Darien was careful to contain the chuckle to keep his head from moving too much. "Lets just say the cops didn't _find_ anything on me, so they couldn't nail me for theft."

Katrina paused her snipping to laugh softly. "I'd say you were pretty damn lucky to not get even more time. Your poor hair would have been completely unsalvageable. Whatever they had you using is atrocious."

Darien was almost shocked by the casualness Katrina had responded to his recent incarceration. Then again while _Nouveau_ handled a fair portion of the rich and famous in this town, it was also true that quite a bit of the money made by the local bigwigs was done on the left side of the law. Drug-dealers that styled themselves as new money, corrupt politicians and their wives, government officials on the take. Eight months served on a year sentence for B&E was probably tame by comparison.

"So how did the two of you meet? Jailhouse romance?" 

Darien could feel the vast quantities of hair being shorn and sliding down the slick material of the cloth wrapped about him to fall on the floor, later to be swept away and forever lost. He was about to respond to Katrina's humorous question, but 'Chele beat him to it.

"Nah, we've been friends for years." 'Chele stated simply.

Darien felt the scissors slip past his left ear as she continued to slaughter, no matter how necessary, years of growth. "Okay, so you're a thief..."

Darien worked a hand free and raised it in protest of that particular appellation. "I prefer _cat-burglar_." Which made 'Chele snicker.

"Actually he's got a Master's in Literature. He tutors rich kids in Lit. and Philosophy." Michele elaborated and Darien could hear the pride in her voice.

"This is a first, an educated cat-burglar, you are definitely going in my book." She patted him on the shoulder and then stepped away, her footsteps soft on the tiled floor. "So, out of curiosity, what is it you do?"

Darien assumed the question was directed at 'Chele.

"What _are_ they calling me these days?" 'Chele mused aloud.

"Overworked?" Darien offered up knowing she often worked 70 hours or more in an average week.

"True enough. Last review I was listed as a Retro-viral DNA Specialist." Michele answered, sounding less than impressed by her own title.

Darien could hear the stunned silence from Katrina before she came back over to him and returned to working on his hair. Based on the tone, she'd switched to a finer pair of scissors for whatever she was currently doing.

"And what does a retro ...whatchamacallit do?" Katrina asked.

Darien resisted the urge to respond since he only knew what 'Chele had been doing before he went into prison, she might very well be working on a different project by this point.

"Currently I'm working on a vaccine for melanoma... Skin cancer." Michele clarified.

Darien wasn't the least bit surprised to feel Katrina's hands still and then settle on his shoulders as if in need of support. "I stand corrected, you are _both_ going in my book; a cat-burgling philosopher and a veritable child-genius looking for the cure to cancer. A day for the record books, and I've worked on some major players in this town." A few more quick snips once she had composed herself and then she moved away from him. He could hear drawers opening and closing and he wondering if she was going to return with new weaponry. "All right, Mr. Fawkes, if you'll follow me it's time to pamper that hair of yours."

"Uh, thanks to the feisty redhead there, I can't exactly see." Darien pointed out in a wry tone.

"What? Watching you stumble about with a spontaneous game of 'Hot and Cold' could be amusing. I could take bets as to whether or not you'll make it across the room unscathed." Michele started off sounding dead serious, but broke into snickers by the end.

"'Chele..." Darien warned.

"Come on, you." 'Chele grabbed his hands from beneath it the cloth and encouraged him to stand.

Though sorely tempted to peek, he kept his eyes firmly shut and did his best to concentrate on his other senses. She shifted and set his right hand on one of her shoulders.

"Okay, D, that's my left shoulder, so you won't be stepping on me with those big old feet of yours. Just follow along, 'kay?"

"Got it," Darien responded, knowing he could trust her, even if it she was still upset with him.

"This way," Katrina said, and Darien moved as Michele did.

Darien counted his steps and listened to the snippets of conversation as they wandered past the various workstations in the salon. At 35 steps 'Chele stopped.

"Rotate with me, then back two steps and sit." 

Darien did as she directed and found himself in one of the reclining chairs located at the back of the salon where he remembered seeing the bank of sinks. He could hear the water and other attendant noises that went with it. 

"Damn, you two _have_ known each other for a while." Katrina pushed against Darien's chest until he was sitting all the way back and then reclined him, making sure his head didn't whack his head on the edge of the sink.

"Yeah, I guess. We've know each other for..." Darien was actually awed at how long it was once he added all the years up. "Wow. Sixteen years."

"A lifetime." Katrina murmured as she started the water and began to wet his hair with it.

"Not even close," 'Chele stated, her voice coming from right beside him, suggesting she was leaning against the sink itself near where Katrina was trying to work a miracle with his hair.

"You two ever ... get involved?" Katrina asked. "You know, as _more_ than friends."

"Us? Nah, he ain't my type." 

Darien was more than a little surprised by 'Chele's response since they had damn well been more than just _friends_ on many occasions over the years. In fact he was hoping they were going to be doing a bit of that _more_ tonight. He was trying to think of a way to broach the subject with the audience listening in and without sounding like a fool, when a new voice intruded.

"My dear, what a gorgeous color. What does your stylist call it?"

'Chele chuckled softly. "Nothing fancy, called au naturel."

"Au naturel?" the slightly nasal voice repeated sounding confused. "Doesn't that mean... natural?"

"Yes," Katrina answered as she added something that smelled of coconuts to Darien's scalp. "That's exactly right."

The deafening silence that ensued from the newcomer made it plain she just didn't get it, so Darien spoke up. "That red is 'Chele's natural color. Far as I know she's never dyed it."

"Not once," she confirmed. "Some chlorine and sunshine abuse, but that's about it." Darien could tell she was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Oh," the stranger mumbled in embarrassment. "Any chance I could get a photo? I'd love to try and duplicate the color."

Darien felt 'Chele's hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze gently. "Sure, why not?" She gave him a quick pat and then walked off, leaving him at the mercy of Katrina.

"So, Katrina, did we save any of it?"

"Most assuredly, Mr. Fawkes, and I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Thirty minutes later Darien, back in the original chair after having assorted goop applied to his hair and yet more snipped off, was waiting impatiently for his unveiling. He could hear Katrina and Michele whispering to one another nearby, but it was so soft that he could only pick up one word in five and that was not nearly enough to be sure of what they were saying.

Just by weight alone he knew his hair was far shorter than it been in several years. That one stray lock kept falling across his forehead and tickling him and no matter what Katrina tried it just refused to behave. Eventually 'Chele told Katrina to just leave it be and not to go overboard with the styling, about which Darien heartily agreed. He'd find his own style with the new cut eventually.

Katrina undid the cloth about him and whisked it away. "You're done, Mr. Fawkes."

Timidly Darien opened his eyes and was, as Katrina had earlier suggested, pleasantly surprised. Yes, it was damned short in comparison to when he had walked in here, but not horribly so. The longest layer on top fell to just above his eyes, hanging loose and slightly waved about his face. The rest was much shorter and layered, but still long enough to curl here and there, especially along the back of his neck. He ran his hands through it to get a feel and found the locks soft and silky, a complete turnaround from the coarse texture prison life had caused. Turning his head he looked at 'Chele, whose face was a blank, awaiting his judgment. 

"Pseudo surfer dude?"

She shrugged. "If it matters at all, I like it."

Running his hand through it one last time and giving it a good shake before allowing the hair to fall where it may, he got to his feet. "Well, you always had good taste."

Her posture relaxed the tiniest of amounts, something only someone who knew her very well would notice, revealing to him her concern about his potential dislike. Then he turned to Katrina. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, Mr. Fawkes. Just try to stay out of prison. I don't know what they force you to use, but it does horrible things to hair." She smiled and escorted them back to the reception area where she handed Darien a business card. "Please feel free to call me anytime."

Darien watched her walk away before looking over the card and noting Katrina had jotted down her home phone number on the back. Stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans he took his new jacket from 'Chele, who was smiling as she proffered it to him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Ready to go?" She tipped her head slightly and gave him a sweeping look from head to toe.

"Uh, don't I ... we gotta pay?" He knew he sounded more than a little uncomfortable since he knew there was no way he could afford even the low end estimate of the bill for this day's adventure into hairstyling.

"Taken care of," she assured him and backed towards the door, with him reluctantly following along.

It wasn't until they were back at the Jeep that he was able to voice his reason for the slow steps and slouched posture. "'Chele, I don't have any place to go. I figured on a cheap motel for the night. Several nights in fact."

"Don't worry, I know just the place. She waved for him to get inside the vehicle and after a moment of debating asking her to clarify got in without a word. He'd just have to trust she knew what she was doing.


	13. Chapter 13

***

"Just the place" turned out to be a six-story brick building in the Gaslamp District on the corner of 4th and J Street. She parked in the miniscule, private lot stuffed between two buildings, got out and began to gather up the shopping bags from the cargo area while he sat there in confusion.

"Uh, 'Chele..."

"Some help would be nice," she interrupted, her tone brusque.

"Right. Help." Getting out, he took up his share of the bags, including the now oddly out of place, brown paper bag from this morning. His number of possessions had increased dramatically in the last few hours.

Hands full, he followed her to the security door at the back of the building and watched as she not only dug out keys, but also punched in a long string of numbers into a keypad mounted on the wall. The scent of Chinese food wafted about them and became noticeably stronger once they had entered the plainly decorated back hallway of the building, making his stomach growl loudly in response.

"I see Mr. Kim has made another convert," she commented as she led him towards the elevator.

"Huh?" he asked, sure he was impressing her with his brilliant repartee.

"Ground floor is _The White Dragon_. Best Chinese food in the city. Mr. Kim is the head chef. I'll have them deliver a selection if you like," she offered offhandedly while the elevator rumbled upwards, taking them to the top floor.

"Delivered where?" He still wasn't sure what was going on or what she was planning this time and after the long day he was no longer quite willing to just go along for the ride.

"You'll see," she responded egnimatically as the car stopped and the doors opened, allowing them to step from the elevator.

The stepped out into a foyer that, while nearly identical in shape and size to the one on the ground floor, was still completely different in appearance. For an instant Darien wondered if the product of Otis' imagination had acted as a primitive time machine given the turn of the century feel to the area they were in. Classic chandeliers of wrought iron with crystal teardrops to catch the light hung in regular intervals from the ceiling. The wall sconces were of the same style and contained light bulbs that simulated gaslight. The walls were made of a dark red brick, which matched the exterior of the building. 

There were only two doors visible, one on either side of the long hallway that presumably ran the width of the building. He could make out a window at the far end, but that was all. Going to the left-hand door, which had an identical security set-up to the one at the entrance to the building, 'Chele opened it and entered.

Darien followed along and copied 'Chele as she set the bags down along the exterior counter for the kitchen. Whatever this place was it most certainly _not_ a hotel of any kind. "'Chele, what is this ... place?" Looking about he was captured by the wall of arching windows right in front of him. "Whoa, what a view."

The angled kitchen allowed views of both the front door and the main living area, he couldn't say _room _as it appeared to be a studio and lacking separate rooms. The windows offered an impressive view of the Pacific even with darkness swiftly deepening towards night, the last vibrant reds and oranges of the sunset fading into indigo.

"Not bad if you don't mind having to look over the Convention Center," she commented, setting her hands on his shoulders and removing his jacket while he stood there still stunned. Part of him noted the closet she hung it in near the front door, but the rest was trying to absorb the situation at hand.

"The place is fully furnished, right down to pans and silverware. Food is a different story, though I think there's some bottled water and wine in the fridge." She waved at the room in question before continuing. "Apartment-sized washer and dryer off the kitchen, a huge walk in closet accessible from both the laundry and the bathroom. The bathroom was described as _decadent_ and I must agree with that assessment. Shower only, I'm afraid, but a large one." She had been moving about the room, but stopped and looked back at Darien, who hadn't budged from his position near the kitchen.

He was still giving the place the once over, partially out of habit, assessing and cataloguing every detail, all while adding up the potential value in his mind and was coming up with a number that was surprisingly pricey for a fancy studio. While the walls were done in either the same red brick or dark wood paneling - except the kitchen which was done in a pristine off-white and chrome - the furniture was all done in black and chromed steel. Sofa and chairs in black leather and chrome, her desk was black slab of what appeared to be glass mounted on shiny metal legs. The small dining set matched the desk, but with more elaborate metal work upon it and the oversized futon bed continued the pattern, right down to the black comforter upon it. The few decorations continued the theme, but with a decided Oriental flare, including the gray and black yin-yang tapestry hanging between two of the windows and over the bed.

"Darien, are you okay?"

"Ummm, yeah. What is this place?" He was beyond curious by now.

"Oh, it's mine. Bought it about nine months ago since I'm down here at least a couple times a month for work. This big joint project with the local CDC office. Got tired of paying for hotel rooms." she explained casually. "You're welcome to it for as long as you need."

"'Chele, I can't ... won't ... do that." He wanted to get this right and didn't need or want handouts to get back on track. The shopping spree was one thing, which he fully intended on paying her back for, but this... This was something else entirely.

"Shit, Darien, get off your high horse," 'Chele snapped, startling him. "If you feel it that necessary then pay rent. You could _buy_ this place from me at fair market value and it wouldn't put much of a dent in those jewels." She sounded more than a mite testy at the moment.

"And how would you know that?" He tried to stay calm, not wanting her mood to deteriorate even further.

"I had them appraised, of course. I think even you will be surprised at their value," she told him as she tossed the hat onto the dining table and then scooted past him to cart away a few of the bags, presumably to the as yet unseen closet.

Darien tried to wrap him mind around her words with little success. "You did what?"

"I had the stones appraised by a very reputable company that I've dealt with before. Since they're only rough-cut there are no jeweler signatures imbedded it makes them virtually untraceable, which I am quite sure you already knew," she answered as she continued moving the results of their trip to the mall. "In fact, I can probably arrange for them to be sold legitimately. That should net you at least a third more than you could get by fencing them locally."

Darien was flabbergasted. When had she gone and decided to play middleman for him? There was no way she could know how risky it was. Yeah, he got off on the risk, the danger, just another rush of the myriad ones he achieved with his less-than-legal second profession. There was little chance that was why she was doing it and, skills he had taught her aside, there was no way in hell she knew enough to pull off these forays onto the shady side of the law without getting caught.

"Are you a complete fool?" he snarled.

'Chele froze, her hands tightening on the handles of the bags she held until the knuckles turned white. With a soft growl she picked up her forward motion and vanished into the doorway that he guessed led to the bathroom and the closet within. When she reappeared he could see on her face that the explosion was imminent. 

"Ya know, I must be, 'cause here I am trying to help a friend out of a tight spot and he's too goddamned proud to even bother seeing that what I'm doing is nothing, a mere drop in the bucket of what I'd gladly or willingly do with no questions asked." She stalked past him while he stood there in awe of her impressive, though cutting, run-on sentence. She grabbed the last few bags to stash them away as well all the while grumbling aloud. "Oh no, he has to..." her voice trailed off to an indistinguishable mumble as she vanished out of sight, but she was back in seconds. "... then he has the audacity to treat me like some puling child, as if I have no common sense whatsoever. As if I have no idea what I'm doing even though it may be no more than an interesting hobby for me. Oh no, first he vanishes on me and then tries to lecture me about skills _he_ bloody well taught me." 

By this point she was pacing the breadth of the apartment, windows to wall near the kitchen, her hands waving about as she ranted, but her words hit home. He'd been trying so hard, in his own way, to protect her that he'd forgotten she was fully capable of handling it on her own. Perhaps even better in some ways as she had highbrow connections he had yet to cultivate for himself.

"All I want to do is help and he all but spits in my face in some sort of macho need to be the Alpha male."

Damn if that one wasn't right on the mark. "'Chele..."

"... doesn't seem to appreciate a damn thing I do, can't bend enough to accept just a little help when he needs it. Won't..." The flow of words hadn't slowed one whit, her dander was so up.

Going to her, he set his hands on her shoulders to stop her headlong pacing, and spun her about. Before she could say a single word in protest he cupped her cheeks with his hands and kissed her.

At first she didn't react, her posture stiff and unyielding, until suddenly it was like she melted. Her entire body relaxing as her hands wandered to settle upon his hips.

Now that they were here, with her tasting like liquid sunshine, the simple kiss he had planned to use to distract her was instead quite effectively distracting him and he found himself unwilling to step back. Sliding the tip of his tongue along her lips caused her to shiver, delicate tremors running through her that he could feel.

Pulling away before he couldn't, he looked down at her and smiled when she sighed deeply. "Thank you." At those words the last of the anger in her eyes guttered and went out. "'Chele..."

She shifted his hands away from her face and took a step back. "Why don't you go shower and I'll order some dinner from downstairs."

Food or sex, what a tough choice as his body was craving both at the moment. However, the thought of a _real_ shower was like a slice of heaven handed to him with no catch. She must have seen his reaction, because she chuckled and nudged him into motion.

"Come on."

The bathroom was beyond decadent. More of those huge windows along one wall provided ambient light, though in here they were covered in opaque blinds to keep the neighbors across the street from getting a free show. There was an oversized pedestal sink in one corner and a luxurious glass-enclosed shower in another. Toilet had its own room, and there was a linen closet to the right of the doorway. Like the kitchen it was done in off-white tile and chrome. The door in the bathroom led to the walk-in closet that doubled as a dressing room, complete with mirrors, bureau and a dressing table.

Not only had she brought the shopping bags into the room, but she'd put most of it away, a section of shelves and hangers now bearing his new clothes. There were only a few things of hers about though there was a garment bag hanging in one corner underneath which was a duffel bag and an odd-looking briefcase.

"Here," she said, handing him a bag bearing the logo of _Nouveau_ on the side. "Katrina recommended these to keep your hair gorgeous."

Glancing in the bag Darien found a couple hundred dollars worth of hair care products. Shampoos, conditioners, mousses, gels, you name it. 

"When did you manage this?"

"You can't think snapping a few pics take all that long?" she smiled. "Now you go enjoy the shower. No worries about bending over here."

Darien felt the blood drain from his face. It was a joke, he_ knew_ it was a joke, nothing more than a silly off-hand comment about the ultimate prison cliche. Yet it still sent shock waves rolling through him. She didn't know... couldn't know, and so he forced the hurt and anger away, plastered a realistic smile on his face and chuckled. "Well, except from you." The jovially spoken words were forced past his lips.

She seemed to fall for it. "Me? I'm not dangerous." Her smile softened. "Enjoy. I'll order food." And with that she turned and left the room, which allowed Darien to finally shudder, the memory not allowing him to escape completely this time.


	14. Chapter 14

__

By the time Darien vacated the bathroom he had some sort of control back, after having dealt with another bout of the shakes while standing under the streaming water of the shower. He knew it was gonna take time, knew he should probably call one of the names on the list the doc at the prison infirmary had given him, but he also knew he wouldn't, that he'd get through it by himself...somehow.

He wandered barefoot across the smooth warm wood of the floor, the soft golden lighting putting him at ease and relaxing him even more. Holding the paper sack from that morning in one hand, he headed to the kitchen in search of a drink. He quickly discovered 'Chele had been correct in her assessment of the refrigerator's contents; there were assorted bottles of Evian and Perrier, half-empty bottles of wine - two red and one zinfandel - and, much to his relief, four stray cans of _Coca-Cola_ shoved all the way in back. Popping the top of one, he drank down a fair portion before looking about for Michele.

He discovered her, or her now bare feet anyway, hanging off the end of the sofa and tapping to some unheard music. Carrying both the soda and the bag he joined her in the sparsely furnished living area. The entire place was lacking all those homey touches he knew she had at her house in Escondido, but considering this was her second home and only used occasionally it made sense that she'd not invested large quantities of money in it. He set the bag down on one of the leather chairs and the soda on the small table next to it, noting that the square coffee table was set for dinner. Bamboo place mats, napkins, plates, chopsticks sitting on their rests along with matched wineglasses. There were also two large black cushions on the floor on opposite sides of the table. Apparently they would be eating their Chinese dinner Japanese style.

'Chele had not yet acknowledged his presence near her, but since she was reading printouts he expected to be relegated to secondary importance. Glancing over at her desk, he was not surprised to learn that the briefcase he'd seen in her closet contained an unusual and impressive-looking computer. He'd be willing to bet even money it was _not_ something to be found available to the public at large. Her brother Patrick was quickly making a name for himself in the computer industry and often made sure his little sister had top notch tech. In fact, Darien was the owner of several toys that Patrick had a hand in creating with the help of Michele. Not for the first time he realized that 'Chele was far too good for the likes of him, though he was thankful every day of his life that she was willing to be a part of it.

His eyes drifted back to Michele as she flipped a page of the printout and huffed to herself. He couldn't help but notice she barely filled two thirds of the sofa. An entire cushion lay empty between the top of her head and the far arm. It was probably more than long enough for him to stretch out on in complete comfort, but that had always been a quirk of hers. She may be petite, but she inevitably took into consideration that the majority of those about her weren't and tended to run her life to accommodate them.

Stepping to the end of the sofa he reached out and ran his thumb firmly along the arch of her foot and chuckled as her toes curled and then spread in reaction. "Work?" he asked softly, not wanting to interrupt her if it was important.

"Of a sort," she muttered, sounding more than a little distracted.

"When will you be heading back?" Both of his hands were now working on her feet and he smiled when she groaned in reaction. He was actually surprised at how tense she was; he could only wonder what had created it and hope it wasn't him.

"Couple of weeks. I was long overdue for a vacation." She set the papers on the floor and looked up at him. "If you don't mind sharing this place that is."

"Fine with me. I could use a friendly face about." His brows knit together as he debated how to broach the one subject he'd wanted to talk about since her offhanded comment at the salon. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She had closed her eyes and was practically purring her enjoyment. 

"Why'd you tell Katrina that I wasn't your type?"

Her eyes flew open and in one smooth motion that reminded Darien of how very limber she was, she leaned forward, her feet not shifting one millimeter. He froze as she proceeded to shove a hand into a front pocket of his jeans. When she didn't find what she was after she dove into the other side and hunted about until she retrieved the prize.

Darien did his damnedest to _not_ react, though with her fingers wiggling about in there not reacting was a near impossibility. A second later she removed her hand and held up the business card Katrina had handed him.

"This is why." 'Chele told him.

Darien shrugged. "So she gave me her phone number. No big deal."

She shook her head and sighed dramatically. "D, by the time we left you could have had your pick of the women there, including the other patrons." Darien just stared at her in total disbelief. "Shoot, every - and I do mean every - gay male in there was wiping the drool off their chins. If I had said, 'Oh, we boink on a regular basis' all those adoring admirers would have been greatly disappointed and you would not have the first, on what is sure to be a long list, of ladies to call upon for some afternoon delight." 

Darien took the card from her and stared at it in consternation as she flopped back onto the sofa. "You _want_ me to call her?"

"Sure, why not? Bet she'd even be willing to head out tonight. Hell, you could probably even get lucky if you play things right." 'Chele stretched her arms up over her head causing the white tank top that was no longer hidden by the work shirt to ride up and reveal the smooth expanse of her belly.

"I was kinda hoping to spend some time with you," he mumbled, stuffing the card back into his pocket and moving away from her.

"Darien..." she began, only to be interrupted by knocking on the front door. Rolling off the sofa, she got to her feet and padded softly to the door. Darien turned and watched her, not quite sure how to react. Granted, he had no reason to expect _anything_ from her. After his screw-up he should probably be happy that she was willing to put up with him for a couple of weeks. 

As soon as the door opened she began a rapid-fire discussion with whoever was on the other side in what he could only assume was Chinese. She took the box their food was packed into and turned about, glancing back at Darien. "Dare, if you would grab the rest I'd appreciate it."

He nodded and joined her, taking possession of two bottles of wine while she dug into a pocket and came up with a $10 bill for the decidedly oriental-looking kid standing there. They exchanged a few more words; then the kid pocketed the money with a broad smile and took off. 'Chele bumped the door closed with her hip and carried the prize over to the living room, then set the box in the center of the table. "There should be a corkscrew in the drawer second from the left of the sink."

"On it." He set the bottles down on the counter, then went hunting. He was amused at how disorganized the contents were. It was nice to know 'Chele hadn't changed all that much over the years. He found it buried in the back corner, which was somewhat odd considering the open bottles in the fridge. "Uh, any preference on which one?" He was looking over the bottles in an attempt to ascertain the contents, but discovering he couldn't read either label as they were done in exclusively Chinese characters.

"Open both. One's a pinot grigio and the other should be a pinot noir. The _Dragon_ has them specially made," 'Chele told him as she continued unpacking the various containers, whose scents were slowly driving him towards insanity and making his stomach growl its approval.

He made short work with the corkscrew and joined her just a couple minutes later, settling cross-legged down on the thick cushion and placing the bottles on the table. He chose one at random, then poured a generous amount into both glasses and took a sip after setting the bottle down. It was definitely not his usual flavor, but not all that bad either and was perfectly good for getting him buzzed, which was another thing he'd missed while in prison.

"Oooh, the noir, good choice." 'Chele commented as she set aside the carton and slid one of the Chinese food boxes towards him. "General Tso's, extra spicy. Just the way you like it."

Darien's mouth began to water; he snatched at the cardboard box and dug right in, heedless of all the trouble she'd gone to. "Gimme."

She laughed and passed over it along with some fried rice and soy sauce packets. "Greedy."

"Hey, I got a lot of quality eating time to make up for," he responded as he grabbed the chopsticks and began to eat directly out of the box, completely forgetting his resolve to attempt to be a gentleman.

"I noticed." 'Chele added an assortment from various boxes to her plate before returning them to the center of the table. 

"Whaddya mean ya noticed?" Darien asked around a tasty morsel of chicken. It had been a long damn time since he'd enjoyed eating this much and he planned on savoring every single bite.

She raised a single eyebrow and finished chewing. "Darien, you've lost a good twenty pounds since I last saw you." She stabbed a chopstick in his direction. "And while it's obvious you've been working out, lifting weights wouldn't account for such a dramatic change."

Darien just shrugged. "Not like there's a whole lot to do inside." Looking over the other open boxes, he grabbed one filled with lo mein and shoveled a pile onto his plate. He added the portions of several other containers until his plate was full before glancing over at her.

She was watching him over the top of her wineglass as she drank, making his throat tighten unexpectedly in reaction. "No, I don't imagine there is," she commented quietly as she set the now empty glass back down and poured herself some more. "So what's in the bag? Didn't think they handed out 'Bon Voyage' gifts when you make parole."

Darien snorted. "They don't." He dipped the sweet and sour chicken in the sauce and took a bite, then reached behind him to retrieve the bag from where it still sat on the chair just as that first shift in reality from the alcohol hit him. He set the bag beside him as he rummaged in it one-handed as he continued munching on the variety of foodstuffs. "It's just my stuff, is all." He found the manila envelope his wallet had been stored in and pulled it out, wanting to make sure that the majority of the items that had been in it when he was incarcerated were still there.

"Cool, my license is still valid," he mumbled around a mouthful of pork fried rice, causing Michele to shake her head slightly. He found the couple of credit cards he owned and was hoping he'd paid the balances off before getting caught or his credit would be in the crapper. Then he found the photos. Several were of 'Chele and went back several years; the oldest was about a decade out of date, at a guess, which made him do a double-take. "'Chele, how old are you?"

"I'll be 29 end of the month, why?" she asked in curiosity.

Darien waved her over and set the series of photos down on the table to show her. With the exception of the changing hairstyle and a maturity to her features, the images were nearly identical. "Where're you hiding that fountain of youth?"

'Chele snickered as she looked over the pictures. "Just good genes, D. You met my parents, they were in their 50s when they died."

Darien couldn't stop the look of surprise that crossed his features. "Nuh-uh,"

"Uh-huh. Remember, Jacob is six years older than me and Mikey." she reminded him. Instead of moving back she dragged the pillow over to sit on and then her plate as she picked up a stray piece of rice with the chopsticks. "You've aged rather gracefully yourself, ya know."

Darien didn't make any comment and continued going through the items in the bag. When he set the tightly rolled bills down 'Chele whistled softly. "Worked the laundry. Net me a few bucks, anyway."

She set down her chopsticks and picked up the glass, swirling the wine about a bit for a moment before finishing it off. "Darien, are you planning to continue teaching?" She sounded oddly uncomfortable to his ears.

"I'd like to, but I have this feeling my previous clients won't rehire me." He was fully aware of the reality of the situation and had planned to find other work to rebuild his reputation while selling off the jewels as his actual source of income.

"I ... At the risk of you getting all pissy at me again, I can help with that if you're willing." She was watching him, her look carefully controlled.

It was his turn to down the rest of the wine in his glass and refill it while he pondered her words, trying to discern her meaning from her one short statement. "I guess that would depend on what you mean by 'help'."

She shifted, leaning back against the sofa and to all appearances relaxing. "I mean that I know some ... people who would be interested in hiring a tutor of your ability. It's a variety of grade levels, but I seem to recall you don't mind that." 

That was more than true enough, though he especially liked teaching the grade school level kids; there was just some odd connection he could make with them. And watching them light up upon finding that sudden love for reading was its own reward. "I'm sensing a catch."

A frown crossed her features. "They are all, hmmm, wealthy in one way or another. Scientists, local politicians, people like that. I can guarantee they will run a background check..."

"I do _not_ steal from the people I work for," Darien stated emphatically, hoping like hell she didn't even entertain the possibility that he might. Okay, admittedly he'd cased the places as a matter of habit, but that was it. He'd made and stuck to that rule from day one. He might have a "second" job, but he made damned sure to keep it separate from his regular one because, when push came to shove, teaching was his _real_ love.

"I know and I'm not accusing you of doing so, just ... explaining the situation." Her tone held no apology, was simply matter of fact. "That's why I'm willing to vouch for you. They'll probably hire you on a probationary basis at first, but knowing you, you'll have no problems proving that you were worth taking the chance on."

Once again her quiet confidence in him stunned him. "You'd do that for me?"

"If you'll let me," she said, tipping her head slightly to one side as she watched him.

Darien pondered her offer while he continued munching on the little food that remained on his plate and washed it down with more of the wine before responding. "Yeah, if you would."

She nodded. "Can I make a suggestion as well?"

"Shoot." He poured more of the wine and pouted to when only a small amount dribbled out. Michele handed over the bottle of grigio and he poured it in with the red, knowing it couldn't be worse than some of the things he'd drunk in his life. 

"Volunteer at an after-school program helping kids with their homework. Most Ys or Boys & Girls clubs run them." She wavered between enthusiasm and this endearing shyness, as if afraid he was going to bite her head off for suggesting something he had been planning to do anyway.

"'Chele, as always, you are wise beyond your years," he told her, and raised the glass in toast before swallowing down about half. He was well on his way to a solid evening of drunken revelry. And as far as he was concerned he had plenty to celebrate.

'Chele smiled in amusement. "Already planned on that, didn't you?"

"Yep," he agreed and nearly swallowed his tongue when she casually licked a drop of sweet and sour sauce off the end of the battered piece of chicken and it struck him as enticingly erotic. Now that his initial hunger for sustenance was currently sated, other _hungers_ had awoken and were making it quite clear what they wanted to satisfy them.

Darien remembered very little of the next 15 minutes as they chatted quietly about, what he hoped, was nothing in particular as she was quite thoroughly distracting him without any effort at all. It wasn't until she quite blatantly leaned over to give him an excellent view of her cleavage that he realized she was teasing him, playing him like a finely tuned instrument.

With a soft growl of pent up frustration he went after her. "You little minx." His voice was low and rough as he grabbed her by the arms even as she tried to get away. 

She squealed with laughter as his weight settled upon her thighs, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. "What's the matter?" Somehow she managed to sound completely innocent even through the giggles.

"'What's the matter?' You're sitting there all innocent-looking and making me react like I'm 17 again," Darien explained in exasperation. That was putting it mildly, to say the least, like her normal version of getting him all hot and bothered wasn't bad enough. This, after going damn close to a year without sex, was driving him right up the wall.

"Me? Would I do a thing like that?" She glared up at him in challenge.

"In a heartbeat," he stated boldly. "And since you seem so fond of torture tonight, I think its only right I get my share in." He shifted a bit and secured both of her wrists with one hand, leaving his other free to do as it pleased with her entire torso.

"Darien, don't do it," she warned, already trying to squirm out from under him. They both knew she could get away if she really wanted or needed to. That one or both of them would probably end up injured in the process made her struggles for release half-hearted, at best. She knew he would stop instantly if she truly became frightened.

"Do what? This, perhaps?" He curled the fingers of his hand along her ribs, wiggling them for full effect, causing her to arch her back and succumb to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "Or maybe this?" His hand moved to run his fingers along her now exposed abdomen, just barely touching the flesh as the muscles tightened in reaction.

"Oh, hell," she panted in reaction. "Shit, Dare, please." She was begging now, but he didn't stop. Not yet. 

It wasn't until she had reached that point where speech was nigh onto impossible, where every breath was a whooping intake, when the tears from the several long minutes of non-stop laughter were running down her face that he paused. Releasing her hands he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Now we're even." The pressure of his hands firmed, caressing the overly sensitive skin and muscles of her torso, feeling how they twitched in reaction as if in anticipation of more tickling. 

"Not even," she grumbled as she lay there limply trying to catch her breath. "I didn't make you beg ... yet."

Darien froze for a second; given the variety of ways she had made him beg over the years, he could only wonder what she'd do this time. Still, the trick was to encourage her to do so. "And what makes you think you'll succeed?"

She licked her lips, the tip of her pink tongue sliding back and forth and he found himself unable to look away. "That's why?" she said with a grin when she'd completed the action.

"'Chele..." Whatever he was going to say was forgotten as she lifted her head and ran her tongue across his lips this time. Her hands drifted from where they had lain above her head to rest on his sides, grasp his shirt and begin tugging it up and off him. He shifted enough to assist, sending the article of clothing flying off into the room without a second thought. Michele was swift to return to kissing him, his mouth coming open and eagerly inviting her in.

She, however, was in complete control of the situation and no matter how he tried, how he shifted, how he attempted to distract her, she kept him from getting anywhere near second base, which was causing an inevitable amount of discomfort in certain regions of his anatomy. Becoming increasingly frustrated with the situation and the lack of contact below his waist, he firmly pressed himself against her and thrust slowly, making it blatantly obvious he wanted to move beyond the one-sided teenaged grope-fest they were currently participating in. She seemed to pay his efforts no heed and continued with her languorous caresses and expert use of teeth and tongue, professionally dodging of his efforts to move things along to the next step.

Deciding to take a more direct tack, he tried to grab her hands to keep them busy while he worked on divesting her of some clothing only to find himself suddenly on his back with her sitting on his stomach and no idea how he'd gotten there.

"Uh, uh, uh. Naughty boy," she admonished, wagging a finger at him.

Though her tone was light the look in her eyes was surprisingly cool, almost bored. Glancing downward he noted her hardened nipples outlined by the snug-fitting shirt and he reached out to caress her. She allowed it for a few seconds with no change of expression upon her face, then she gently batted his hand away. "Michele..."

"Yes, Darien?" 

Suddenly he wasn't sure what to say; he'd never seen her in a mood like this before. "Baby, you all right?" Instead of answering she leaned forward, bracing her hands to either side of him and kissed him lightly, her lips just barely brushing across his and making him groan in reaction. She shifted a bit, her hips now straddling his, but raised up so that the only contact was her knees pressed against his sides. 

Sitting up quickly, she stared down at him for a long moment, then shook her head in obvious irritation. "I'm just fine," she snapped. Shifting off him, she began closing the take-out boxes and placing them back in the delivery carton.

Darien could only lie there stunned as she proceeded to carry the leftovers from dinner to the kitchen and try to figure out what he'd done wrong over the course of the last hour to piss her off so badly. "Michele, what's the matter? You worried I'm not gonna return the favor or something?"

She snorted and continued with her clean up. "I _never_ expected that."

That threw him. Shifting, he sat upright on the cushion, retrieved his glass and poured a generous amount of the grigio into it to cover his confusion. Taking a sip, he noted the intense tartness to the wine followed by a surprisingly smooth aftertaste. However, because of 'Chele's sudden mood the flavor was oddly bitter to him. "Sweets, what did I do wrong?"

She shook her head. "Wrong? You?" She plopped down on the sofa and grabbed her half-full glass and downed it. "Seeing as you're ready for round two should I see if I can find that blow-up doll, or you gonna call Katrina now that you have some self-control back?"

Darien blinked and sucked in a breath, needing a moment to recover from a bad case of verbal whiplash. "Awright, where the hell did you get the idea I planned on spending the night with anyone but you?"

One eyebrow rose upwards as she glared at him. "Considering you had no idea I would be picking you up, assuming we'd be spending the night together was a bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?" She kicked at him with her foot, connecting with his calf and sending shooting pain up his leg. "Can't see you boning Kev if he were to...."

"Hold it right there, missy." The mere thought of him and Kev was almost -almost - enough to kill his currently overactive libido. "I'll admit that I was kinda hoping you'd be willing to... but expect it? Never. All you had to do was say no." Ignoring the frown that crossed her features, he sat up, scooted over to her and set a hand on her thigh. "'Chele, _if_ I had been interested in someone else I would have let you know straight off the bat." Her expression didn't change, but even he could tell she was confused. So when she attempted to lean about him to refill her glass to use as a shield, he took it away and set it on the table along with his. "Who do you think I was planning on calling as soon as I had gotten settled?"

"Celia?" she suggested, still not quite able or willing to meet his eyes. 

Darien sighed. "Her too. But you were first on my list," he said softly, leaning in to nuzzle the side of her neck.

'Chele pushed him away. "Yeah, soon as you realized the jewels were in my possession." she countered, sounding hurt. "Darien, I... I guess I'm still mad that you didn't let me know you were in trouble, and yet you want me to believe I'd be the first person you'd call when you got out. You just assumed everything would be fine and dandy."

He certainly couldn't argue with that as she had every right to be angry with him. "Michele, I am truly sorry. What I did... it made sense at the time." He captured her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. "There is no way I can repay you for this, for being here for me today."

"You don't need to. Friends help each other, remember?" She closed her eyes and relaxed, finally, the tension and residual anger draining away. "So, do you want me to find that blow up doll? It claims to 'feel just like the real thing'."

Darien pondered for a moment. "Depends, does it talk back the way you do?"

"Hey," she backhanded him on the shoulder without force. "This from Mister Oh-Yeah-Baby-Just-Like-That himself."

Darien snickered, "Just proves you do your best work when not talking."

"When my mouth is full, you mean," she muttered as he leaned back in to kiss the sensitive spot under her ear.

"That too," he agreed. This time when he slid his hand under her shirt she didn't stop him and he once again reveled in the fact she often didn't bother with a bra; one less layer for him to remove. A light brushing of his fingers across her hardened nipple caused her to moan and arch towards him. "If I didn't know better I'd say it's been a while for you as well."

"Couple of months," she admitted through a gasp as he rolled her nipple between his fingers.

"Leaving a trail of broken-hearted men behind you." He backed away slightly to gaze at her as he slipped the shirt upwards and brought his other hand up to caress her.

She snorted, "Broken hearts, right. They get what they want and move on. Just like you." Running her hands through his hair she kissed him lightly. "Bed, my love, I want you in my bed."

With a nod he stood and waited for her to do so as well, then pulled the tank top over her head and tossed it away. "Not my fault you keep refusing to marry me," he said without hurt in his voice. 

'Chele backed away from the living room, one finger hooked onto a belt loop to draw him along, heading towards the bed even as his hands continued their exploration of her upper body. "Ah, Dare, I won't keep you from the chance of having a family." She stopped half-way there, her hands making short work of the button and zipper on his jeans and stripping him of the clothes; leaving them forgotten on the wood floor. "You'll be a wonderful father one day, the way you handle children has proven that. And it won't happen with me." 

He pulled her close and cupped her face. "There are other options," he countered even as he kissed her, their mouths opening in unison and tongues seeking each other to begin that slow sensuous battle again. Her hands slipped down to run along the firm muscle of his buttocks, making him shiver in reaction. "'Chele..."

"Hmmm?" she asked, as she encouraged his hands lower to fondle her breasts again.

"Umm, what were we discussing?" She had begun backing up again, leading him straight towards that big bed of hers.

"Nothing of importance, my dear." 


	15. Chapter 15

***

It took a long moment for his not yet fully conscious mind to process what his senses were registering. Strange shadows shifting on an unfamiliar ceiling, odd tickings and hums that set his nerves on fire, the unusual comfort of the bed he lay upon all piled atop one another to _increase_ the feeling of terror the dream he'd awoken from had inspired.

"Crap," he muttered softly, and very nearly jumped out of his skin as _something_ next to him moved. Reality slammed forcefully into him and he could suddenly feel his heart racing in his chest, the sweat lying heavy upon his skin, dampening his hair and the sheets coiled low at his waist. He could now feel the warm body his hand was resting upon, the slight movement as she breathed, the air blowing gently along his ribs.

Lifting his head, sight confirmed what memory was now telling him, as he saw the wild curls of Michele, who lay with her cheek pressed against his side, grumbling softly. He stroked her back gently until she quieted, not wanting his late night wakefulness to disturb her sleep. He shivered in the cool air of the room, 'Chele's warm, familiar presence was not providing the comfort he had hoped.

One last caress and he slid out from under the covers to stand beside the bed gazing down at her. She shifted slightly, as if looking for him even in her sleep, then settled back into a deeper slumber, one far less likely to be disturbed by his inability to remain blissfully unconscious.

He turned away to look about for his pants in the still unfamiliar darkness of the room and found them lying on the floor halfway between the sofa and the bed. Even the reminder of Michele's impatience wasn't enough to chase away the memories, to negate the effects of the dream that took that past event and twisted it, added to it, warped it into something that was nearly as bad as the reality. No matter how bad the dreams sometimes got, the _reality_ was always worse.

She'd left the blinds up, though given how distracted she'd been when heading to bed it was more than understandable. Then again, she might very well leave them up all the time, or had simply figured he'd prefer some ambient light if he awoke during the night. Stumbling about in a pitch-black room was never fun and far worse when you had yet to learn all the quirks and hazards of the place.

Darien pulled his pants on and then wandered almost blindly to the nearest window and leaned his head against the thick glass to stare down at the street below. The few cars driving down the street and pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks gave him a hint as to the hour without the need of finding a clock. Given his "night" job he knew the pulse of the city extremely well after dark, especially those long, silent hours after midnight.

Part of him had known that getting out would not erase what happened, but he'd been hoping that without those gray stone walls about him that it would lessen its grip on him and not tighten it even further. As unintentional as they had been, stray comments from 'Chele as well as her choice of ... position for sex had only triggered the memory over and over all of this long day. With a ragged sigh born of frustration and pain he cracked open that tightly locked door in his mind and let himself remember in hopes of one day being able to forget.

He'd been in three months when it had happened. Not being the fool many seemed to think, he'd quickly discerned the pecking order inside and noted who to stay away from, who not to piss off and who was, comparatively, safe. With some fast-talking and a few self-defense moves 'Chele had taught him over the years, including one he'd nicknamed the Vulcan Nerve pinch, he'd established himself somewhere in the middle of the pack. High enough that he didn't have to put up with crap with the obvious outsiders and low enough to go unnoticed by those at the top of the food chain. Minimum security wing or not, RJD was populated with more than enough bad-asses and hard core criminals, some of which Darien had encountered over the years. His life outside was an odd study of contrasts as he dealt with both the rich and powerful through his job and Michele and the seamy underbelly of the lawless in the great city of San Diego.

He'd been approached and challenged on several occasions, but he'd always succeeded in achieving at least a draw. The few _gangs_ that controlled most of what occurred inside didn't seem to care about him so long as he stayed out of their business, which he was more than happy to do.

Still, he'd managed to piss off a couple of jerks on the rung just below him and they bullied a couple others into administering a little jailhouse justice on Darien. And he, sure that he could skate through his time without a problem, never got the slightest inkling he was in trouble ahead of time. 

Darien had been in the midst of that ever-cliched shower, the communal room far quieter than normal, lacking the usual _male_ activities, not the least of which was the inevitable release of sexual tension. The comparative quiet had lulled him into a sense of foolish security and he failed to react when the room suddenly cleared out leaving him alone.

He'd been lathering up his hair with his eyes closed when strong hands grabbed him from behind, one covering his mouth and keeping him from shouting in alarm. Dragged into the furthest corner of the sterilely tiled shower, he was forced to his hands and knees, harsh laughter and raw sexual commentary shocking him even as he struggled to get away, some still innocent and naive part of him unable to comprehend what was happening.

Darien managed to get in a few blows and received his share as well, but in the end the foursome succeeded in getting him in the position they wanted. He very nearly bit through one of the fingers of the hand covering his mouth when the first ... penetration occurred, the pain was so severe.

He'd been lucky, though, the _party_ has been broken up just seconds later by guards looking for one of his attackers. Darien had been sent to the infirmary to treat his bruises, the bastards covering quickly by saying it was nothing but a little disagreement that resulted in a shoving match and Darien hitting his head against the wall to account for the impressive swelling his cheek was already showing. No mention was made by the prison guards about the bruises on his ribs and arms... or the blood.

The doc who examined him knew better and treated his less obvious injuries with a surprising gentleness and assured Darien that the damage was minor and that he'd heal quickly.

__

'Heal quickly?' Darien thought as he momentarily swam back up from the depths of the memory. _'Physically, maybe. But emotionally?'_

Darien had been ten times as careful the remainder of his incarceration, had faced down the four on other occasions and eventually convinced them to leave him alone by making alliances with a couple of the top dogs inside. He'd done favors for them and they kept him from getting jumped and passed around as a play toy. His skill at picking pockets and lifting stuff unnoticed, by even the most observant of inmates or guards, kept his _virtue_ intact the for rest of his stay.

Shuddering, he refocused on the late night cityscape that lay outside the window.

"Bad?" a quiet voice behind him asked.

Darien didn't even bother to flinch; not really surprised that Michele had awoken and noticed him standing silent in the dark. "What makes you ask that?" He didn't even turn to look at her; instead choosing to try to stare at his own shadowed reflection in the glass.

"Darien, don't you think I noticed the way you reacted to some of the things I said today? You may have perfected the broody look, but even you don't get this upset over minor crap," Michele whispered hoarsely.

"You have no idea... can't possibly understand." Darien's voice was tight with frustration, so he was shocked at her derisive chuckle.

"Darien, I am the one person who _would_ understand. Jess, remember?" She tried to keep the reminder gentle, but the bitter undertone was audible to Darien's ears.

With a sigh, his posture relaxed, shoulders slumping as he acknowledged the truth of her statement. She was indeed the one person who might understand; who might not see him as something to pity or be disgusted by. He felt her hand on his back then, making him shudder slightly as long pent up emotions sought some means of release.

"As you told me many, many times, dear one, it'll get better." 'Chele was plainly subdued, his mood affecting hers.

"Is it that obvious?" He was suddenly concerned that everyone he'd meet would see the horror of what had happened to him written across his face or revealed by his eyes.

Her hand stroked up and down, her fingers leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. "Only to those who know you very well. I'm sorry about what I said, it wasn't intended to cause you pain."

At the desperate sadness in her voice he turned about to see her standing there with the sheet from the bed wrapped about her and trailing along the floor behind her, a pool of inky black against the wood of the floor. She was apparently fully aware of his current discomfort with being naked. Her eyes echoed the hurt that he knew she could see in his own. "You had no way of knowing what ... happened." He was shocked at how difficult it was to say those words, to admit it aloud to someone.

She moved no closer, though her hand remained resting lightly on his back, giving him both the space he needed and the limited amount of comfort he was willing to accept at the moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked tentatively.

He froze and was willing to bet his was doing a remarkable impression of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi truck. He shook his head violently. "I don't think I can. I'm not like you, y'know." His final words were harsh, but she didn't seem to notice.

Michele's hand dropped to her side. "It won't change how I feel about you," she stated simply. "If you choose to never tell me, I'll still be your friend. I'll still do everything in my power to help you through this."

"Michele..." His voice was choked with emotion. "I just... Thank you."

'Chele waited patiently while he fought the conflicting needs for comfort and fear of her rejecting him no matter what she might say. Finally the simple fact that she was his friend and had stood by him through anything and everything for so many years won out. He went to her, set his hands on her shoulders and leaned his head down to rest atop hers. Her arms came up to wrap about his waist, which was actually successful in providing some measure of comfort.

"Do the nightmares ever go away?"

"No," she answered, surprising him. "But they do get easier to deal with and eventually come less often." She paused to take a deep breath as if being haunted by the ghosts of her past. "I still dream about Jess; it just doesn't affect me like it used to."

That was not what he wanted to hear, to know that even if he could block the memory while awake that his sleeping mind would be sure to dredge it up in all its Technicolor glory. His hands curled into her hair, his eyes closing as a tiny whimper escaped from him. 

It was several long minutes before he calmed enough to stop shaking in reaction. He was so damn tired he couldn't think straight any longer. He'd not had a normal night's sleep since it had happened and he wasn't sure he ever would again.

"Come on, you need to sleep."

He stiffened even as her hands slid upwards to wrap loosely about his neck, fingers playing with the hair in the back.

"'Chele, I don't think I can," he admitted reluctantly, lifting his head so he could look down at her.

Stepping away from him, her fingers trailed down his arms and grasped his hands, tugging gently as she backed towards the bed in a somber version of the activities of earlier. Darien dragged his feet this time, his enthusiasm to be in her bed dampened, which she noticed. She took the time to straighten up the bedclothes before crawling back under the covers, placing the sheet she'd been wearing once again back where it belonged. Her nude body didn't inspire more than a flicker of the reaction it usually did, which proved the depths of his current discomfiture.

She waved for him to join her and he shed the jeans and lay down on one side of the bed, making sure not to get too close to her.

Rolling on her side, she gave him a small smile. "Get over here, you. I want to cuddle."

Darien angled his head to look at her, unable to return the smile, unable to find the strength to move the few inches necessary to be at her side. He just barely kept from flinching when she reached out to run her fingers through his hair. "I don't know how you did it, how you got through it." He shuddered and she drew the covers up a bit more.

"The same way you are, day by day. Plus, I had someone there for me. Someone willing to hold me together when I couldn't," 'Chele said in a soft voice.

Darien shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I... knew what I was risking, knew I might not get out in one piece." He raised himself up and moved closer to her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her body against his chilled one, wanted her to make it all go away even though he knew she couldn't.... wanted that feeling of fearlessness that had always burned so brightly inside him back. 

"Dare?" she questioned with a sigh as he rubbed her cheek with his, noting the roughness of the stubble against her skin. "Ack, sandpaper," she groused quietly, her tone only semi-serious.

"Ah, Truth, don't know how well that nick fits anymore. I'm not exactly feeling all that daring these days." He kissed her and then settled with his head resting on her chest, hers tipping down to lay against the top of his head. "It... R...r..rape," He hated that he stuttered so badly on that word. "is meant to break a person. I ... I get that now. From an enemy it's bad enough, but from a friend... I don't know how you did it. How you deal with it."

The slow thudding rhythm he could hear suddenly skipped a beat, then seemed to treble in speed at his words. "Jessup scares me, Dare, more than you can ever imagine, but not because he betrayed me, not because he raped me. He did the one thing few others have, at least on such a grand scale. He changed me, profoundly, and I hate and fear him for that."

The dark subtle terror in her voice was audible, flowed from her tense posture like black treacle. Darien knew the truth of her words, had watched her struggle for months as she tried to find herself, tried to find _Michele_, who had become so very lost in the fear and pain that one vicious act, inflicted upon her for no visible reason, had caused. "I know, baby, but it didn't change how your real friends felt about you."

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, the beat returning to something near normal. "Ah, but the way I saw them had changed. And I had never been overly naive about the realities of the world. You will always be my _Dare_." Her hand moved to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers trailing through the hair in a way that was quite pleasant. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he responded uncharacteristically, and he could feel her surprise at his choice.

"Has it changed you?"

He borrowed her word to answer, "Profoundly."

She sighed deeply, her breath warming his scalp. "How?"

One word, but heavily laden with possible meanings. He took a moment to think, to look at himself both before and after the events in question, but still responded with the only answer he could at the moment. "I don't know." 

He yawned then, her presence and the gentle movements of her hands calming and relaxing him. For the first time in months he felt he might be able to sleep without having to jerk awake at every little sound, without having to be alert for anyone looking for some payback. Dreams were another issue entirely.

"Sleep, D, I'll keep the dreams away." She kissed the top of his head and then began to hum softly. 

"'Chele," he mumbled, exhaustion taking hold, but wanting to ask her if she'd stand by him while he tried to muddle his way through.

"Whatever you need, my love. Whatever you need."

And on those words Darien slipped under and into the waiting arms of the Sandman.

The sound of humming was the first thing that registered upon his mind, the same languid tune he'd fallen asleep to during the early morning hours. He realized with some amusement that it was also what she'd been humming during that one particular sexual act, which caused an immediate response with a certain part of his anatomy. Touch kicked in next; naked skin pressed against naked skin, the soft cotton of the covers lying across his body and providing additional heat retention, the temperature change occurring about mid-chest. The comparatively cool air of the room caused his nipples to tighten in reaction. One of his legs was draped across hers, his arms wrapped loosely about her torso, the one underneath her miraculously having retained blood flow and still usable. Her fingers still stroked through his hair, still soothing away the harsher images his mind often dredged up these days. 

For a change he felt completely rested; what few dreams he remembered had been far more innocuous that those he'd become used to. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with dual views, both of which he'd gladly wake up to for months to come. First was the bright blue sky he could see out her windows, clear and unfettered from even a wisp of cloud. What direct sunlight that streamed in the window was angled away from the bed and brightened the room without being glaring. Second was the swell of the breast he lay near, smooth tanned skin and peaked nipple greeting him to another day.

Shifting, he kissed the curve of flesh and mumbled, "Good mornin'."

'Chele chuckled softly. "Almost afternoon, bub."

Darien groaned. "Of what day, is the question."

"Thursday," she responded, nuzzling the top of his head. "Why?"

He moved his hand to idly stroke the breast he was still observing. He was awake and aroused, but not feeling any great rush or need for sex. "I'm not late, then. Have a meeting with my parole officer bright and early tomorrow." he explained.

"Mmmmm," she commented effusively. "Wouldn't wan' ya to miss that."

Her words came out slurred and Darien lifted his head to look at her. She had dark circles under eyes that were verging on bloodshot, yet she was smiling at him. "You didn't sleep?" he asked as the realization sank in.

She shook her head. "Nope. Said I'd keep your nasty dreams away. Can't do that while unconscious." One hand slipped around to rest against his stubble-roughened cheek, fingers tracing along his lips, which made him close his eyes and sigh in contentment.

For all he wanted to admonish her for staying awake while he slept, he knew he'd needed the peace, needed the chance to sleep like a human being again and not like the caged animal he'd all but become while in prison. So he opened his eyes and simply said, "Thank you."

"Welcome," she replied, then grimaced.

Darien realized then that the long night had caused her more than just a few hours of lost sleep. "Gave yourself a migraine, didn't you?"

"'Fraid so, but it was worth it. You needed a peaceful night's rest." she insisted, making it plain she was not going to have him feeling guilty over it.

"Yeah, I did," he agreed, then leaned in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Tell you what, you take your meds and crawl back into bed and, if you'll let me borrow your Jeep, I'll hit Ralph's to get us something other than cold Chinese to eat."

"Sounds like an excellent plan to me," she said as she wrapped her hands about his neck and drew him close. "And if it weren't for the fact my head is currently sponsoring an elephant tap-dancing lesson I'd take complete advantage of your _wakefulness_." She shifted her leg against him so that he understood exactly what she was talking about.

Darien snickered. "'S'alright, I'll let you take advantage of me later." Untangling himself from her hold, he slipped off the bed, nowhere near used to this 18 inch off the floor futon. He helped her up and held her steady once she was upright, the headache smacking her a good one as the blood flow shifted from horizontal to vertical. "Damn, really bad one ain't it?"

"Uh-huh," she whimpered, then staggered forward towards the bathroom door with Darien following her to make sure she made it in one piece and didn't pass out from the pain. He'd seen her do that a couple times when she'd waited too long to take her meds. Even with all her reassurances over the years that she was fine, her headaches still frightened him and he lived with the underlying fear she would one day drop dead in his presence because of them.

Michele headed for the linen closet and pulled out her small black kit bag, carried it to the dressing table in the generous closet and began prepping a syringe. That told him that the headache was extreme, as she usually preferred taking the pills to poking herself with needles. Sitting on the chair, she attempted to get the strip of rubber tubing about her upper arm, but with no success. Her hands were shaking too hard at this point. 

Crouching next to her, he took the tourniquet from her. "Let me."

She held out her right arm and he got it wrapped about her biceps with a practiced efficiency. This wasn't the first time he'd helped her with this. Ripping open one of the small square packets, he used the alcohol wipe inside to swab down the crook of her elbow. Knowing she couldn't give herself the shot easily at the moment he lifted the syringe and prepared to do it for her. He'd lost a few friends over the years to so-called recreational drugs, which had caused this deep-seated dislike for drug dealers and drugs in general. He had avoided that path even though he could easily have strode down it given some of the people he'd met, interacted and worked with over the years while thieving.

Almost as if she _knew_ what was rolling through his mind 'Chele said hoarsely, "I can manage, Darien."

"I'm good," he replied even as he slid the needle into the vein bulging out conveniently, almost as if demanding the clear liquid in the syringe he held. He depressed the plunger slowly and the drug made its way into her system, causing her to groan in reaction. She'd explained years ago that the stuff might work to counter the cause of her migraines, but that didn't mean its effects were the least bit enjoyable.

She hissed as he withdrew the needle, untied the tubing and set both on the dressing table, knowing what was coming next. Her entire body stiffened in reaction to the drug, her pupils dilating wildly for a few seconds, before finally relaxing, her body going slack and very nearly falling off the chair. "Easy, sweets," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. "You gonna make it?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she said around a huge yawn. "Lemme snag a quick shower, then it'll all be yours."

"Michele," Darien began, getting to his feet and helping her up. He knew the shots had some serious side effects for her, which is why she only used them when absolutely necessary. "It's your place, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she lilted, the drugs plainly leaving her tripping quite merrily, and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. He heard the water start, the glass door slide shut and a yelp of irritation. "Bloody cold water."

Darien laughed softly and debated the merits of joining her with the sole intention of making sure she didn't pass out or hurt herself, but instead set about disposing the syringe. It took him a couple of minutes, but he found the biohazard container in the laundry room. Then he returned the tubing to its place in the bag and put it back in the linen closet. 'Chele stepped out of the shower just as he was closing the closet doors. He tossed her a towel, which she wrapped about herself. 

"Thanks," she said softly. "You doing okay?"

Towel in hand for his turn in the shower, he walked towards her. "Well enough. Glad to be out, that's for sure. How're you?" While she looked better he could tell she was exhausted and it made him wonder if she'd lost more than just one night's sleep recently.

She shrugged. "In need of some rest, and, no, it's not your fault. Work's been ... stressful recently."

He reached out to run the knuckles of his hand along her cheek. "Go get some sleep. I'll take care of the other stuff." When it looked like she was debating being stubborn he added, "Please. I need to do something to make this seem real, okay?"

"It don't get much more real, D. We'll deal with this together, right?" 'Chele took his hand into both of her own and looked up at him, her eyes pleading as if concerned.

"Right. Just like we always do." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "Go on."

She nodded and released him, walking into the closet to get dressed. With a sigh, Darien turned the shower back on and waited for it to warm before stepping under the falling water.


	16. Chapter 16

***

Darien set the bags on the counter, then peeked around the edge of the kitchen to find Michele still dead to the world, her face smushed into the pillows, her hair wild and tousled. The light blanket he'd tossed on her before leaving had been kicked down to the foot of the bed, the t-shirt rucked up, showing off a wide expanse of back. One foot twitching as if she chased rabbits in her sleep. 

He'd been about to leave when he realized he had no idea what the codes for the two security locks on the building were and dreaded the thought of waking her up to learn them, but the only other option would be to hack the codes. He seriously doubted the building owner would appreciate him doing that. He spotted her keys on the counter along with a piece of paper with two long numbers scrawled across it. One was marked "main" the other "apt" and he quietly thanked her for her foresight. 

Darien had taken far longer than he'd intended for a quick trip to the grocery store; he kept thinking of "just one more thing" that they absolutely had to have today and that required yet another stop. He'd ended up making four side trips after hitting Ralph's before he was satisfied with the purchases. He'd also made several calls while out, one of which was to the Store-All where'd he kept his less-than-legal tools. He was assured his bill was paid up for the next six months and that his belongings remained untouched. Darien suspected Michele had discovered the place and covered the bill since he was pretty sure the money he'd doled out ahead of time had run out three months ago. 

He intended to visit the place tomorrow, after the meeting with his parole officer. Then he wanted to get his hands on those jewels, which he hadn't seen since the night that he'd stolen them. 

Heading back downstairs he grabbed the remaining items from the Jeep and locked it. Driving a stick-shift had come back to him quickly even though he hadn't driven one in years. Michele had always preferred them to automatics for some unknown reason. Once back in the apartment he hunted through the cabinets until he found the lone vase and filled it with water to hold the bouquet of flowers he'd bought on the spur of the moment. The vivid mix of orange, yellows, reds and purples had caught his eye and made him think of 'Chele.

He quickly put the items away, picking spots at random in the empty pantry and leaving a few items on the counter to make up a late lunch for the two of them. While she'd probably grumble about being woken up, he knew she needed to eat. Her headaches tended to depress her appetite and, from what he'd seen last night, she'd been skipping a lot of meals lately. She might be petite, but he shouldn't be able to count her ribs without effort. If he were to guess, he'd bet she'd lost almost as much weight as he had since the last time they'd seen each other. That would put her under 100 pounds, which was far too light for her.

Carrying the tray of various finger foods - thinly sliced pastrami, cheese, sliced apples and melon, and crackers - and a couple bottles of the Evian, he paused long enough to grab a deep purple iris from the vase before walking over to the bed. He set the tray on the nightstand and sat down next to her, chuckling at her lack of movement. She was out like a light.

He brushed the hair off her face to discover she was practically breathing through the pillowcase. He picked up the flower and took a moment to smell it then used it to tickle her nose. At first she didn't seem to notice, but eventually she wrinkled her nose and shifted slightly, more of her face becoming accessible to him. He began again, this time with light strokes across her cheeks, nose and eyes, which caused her hand to shift and bat half-heartedly at the offending piece of flora. Then she huffed softly and settled back down.

Darien paused in his attempt to wake her, wondering if maybe she should remain asleep for a while longer. Missing one more meal wouldn't make that big a difference, would it? He took a moment to really look at her, something he hadn't done the day before, and quickly became aware she was whipcord thin. She'd never been one to shirk her exercise, fitting it in whenever and wherever she could with her busy schedule, but that wouldn't account for what he was seeing. Cheekbones and collarbones were decidedly prominent, tanned, but not so much as he'd seen in the past, stress lines about her eyes and mouth even in her sleep. It was looking like this last year had been as rough on her as it had been on him and Darien knew part of her stress was caused by _his_ vanishing act.

He came to a decision and ran the petals along her face again, tracing the outline of her profile until she muttered something and tried to shift away. "Come on, sleepyhead, time to wake up." 

She grumbled aloud, but it was still unintelligible. 

"Please, baby, just for a little while," he pleaded softly, one hand coming to rest on the bare flesh of her waist.

"Mmmm, Dare?" she mumbled, her eyes fluttering open.

"Yep. Thought you should eat something." He waited patiently while she slowly processed his words, consciousness plainly still warring with the lure of sleep. "'Chele, you okay?"

It must have been the very real concern in his voice that did the trick. Her eyes finally opened fully and she looked at him. "Just tired, is all." She pushed herself into a sitting position, shifting the pillows about to support her. "But you're right. I need to eat something."

He presented her with the flower, which she took with a smile. He reached for the tray and set it on the bed between them, while she twirled the stem between her fingers. "I figured a snack for now, unless you want something more substantial, that is."

She shook her head and picked up a slice of the sharp cheddar. "Sorry about being lump woman. New mix has too much painkiller, I guess." She nibbled on the cheese and watched him quietly.

"What's going on with work that has you this wiped?" he asked as he bit into the slice of apple he'd chosen, the tart tang a pleasure to taste upon his tongue.

"Government crap," she replied, reaching for a bottle of water. "If I had my way I wouldn't be working this CDC thing, but..." She shrugged. "I was most certainly needed. I swear some methods they use go back to the 50s. Beyond outdated and slow."

"An exaggeration, I take it?" She nodded in agreement. "They still bugging you to quit Hollow Brook?"

"Every budgetary quarter I get a call and a new offer. The joint project is important, but I made it clear I was working it under protest. Dr. LaSalle admitted to being backed in a corner. The lab risked losing several valuable grants if I was _not _assigned to the project." 'Chele took a long drink of water. "So I'm working for the government after all," she grouched.

"On what? If you can say, that is." Darien was curious, but after dealing with Kevin and his top-secret projects figured she wouldn't be able to tell him anything.

"Nothing special, it's mainly computer work. Simulations for various viruses and possible vaccines, stuff like that," she answered around a bite of melon. "Interesting work and my computer skills have definitely been a boon. I've had to write some of the programs from scratch just to get the project started."

"Is there anything you can't do?" Darien asked in amusement. One thing he'd learned over the years was that whatever new thing she set out to learn, she mastered and typically became quite skilled at. She was nearly as talented with a computer as she was with a petri dish; computer language was as simple as complex chemical formulae for her.

"Lots of things, Darien. Far, far more than I _can_ do." she told him bluntly. "And there will be things I will never do simply because of who and what I am." She scrubbed her face in her hands and sighed. 

"What else has been going on? You're doing that melanoma vaccine research and your personal work. You've been in at least one relationship since we last spoke and I'm quite sure you've kept in contact with your family... and mine." He handed her a slice of the pastrami wrapped about a piece of cheese. "What, tired of having your work published? Of making that six figure income?"

She laughed at that. "Okay, so the money's not half bad and I've gotten used to playing PR queen for the company. Not my fault I'm more photogenic than Dr. Krandell."

"And at least three decades younger," Darien added with a smile. Dr. Krandell was a nice man and could handle reporters even with the most difficult questions with a natural ease and calm temper. However, he was in his 60s, his clothes hadn't been updated since the mid-seventies, and he looked like Einstein after a really bad night involving tequila and a small pony. Michele had been asked to do a short lecture on her parents' theories as part of a much bigger conference and things had clicked. Dr. LaSalle was no fool and, after noting her ease at dealing with people, whether speaking in front of hundreds or doing a one-on-one interview for JAMA, she handled it with confidence and aplomb. She was often asked for by reporters simply because, given a choice between Einstein's evil twin and the beautiful, young-looking 'Chele, there was no contest. "Michele, is it... your..." he wasn't sure how to put it into words so he just tapped the side of his head. "Your headaches."

"Partially," she admitted. 

"Have you thought about talking to someone about it?" Darien didn't want to push her on the matter, but he also didn't want to see her suffer needlessly.

"Who, Darien? Peter was the only one who understood what was going on," she told him frankly. "Its not like I can go to a regular doctor about this. Shit, I don't even let my GYN run my tests. I do that myself."

Darien's understanding of the problem was limited, but he knew 'Chele was, by normal standards, _different_. She had just never detailed how exactly to him, citing that the knowledge was too dangerous for him to know. Protecting him from some amorphous _they_ who could use him against her if he knew the truth. He personally thought she was being paranoid, but since she had always been honest with him, he let it lie as it was, with half-knowledge and an underlying concern for her health and well being.

"Thought Doc Anthony was... in on it," Darien commented, reaching for another tidbit to munch on.

Michele sighed heavily. "He was for a while, but about six months after Peter died Curtis got a very odd phone call. Whoever it was scared him badly enough that he said he couldn't help any longer, even gave me back all the files he had. We occasionally have lunch when I'm up visiting Celia, but that's it."

"Your brothers? Jacob's no slouch in the research department, I seem to recall." Darien often found himself in awe of her family. Patrick was a confirmed computer geek rivaling both Gates and the team of Jobs-Wozniak. Mike, her twin, was working for the CIA doing god knows what, but 'Chele had a collection of postcards from around the world thanks to his _business trips_. Jacob was in medical research, but had gone the full route and gotten his medical degree so that he treated actual patients, performed final stage human testing of experimental drugs for such things as cancer and AIDS, and to a degree applying their parents' theories to current techniques to improve them. One day he might be testing the vaccines 'Chele had created.

She shook her head. "They all know sis is different, but I don't want them involved for the same reason I won't tell you everything."

He understood her logic, but didn't agree with it. "You can't do it alone." He mulled for a minute. "What about Kevin? I'm sure he'd help if you asked."

"I know he would and, while I trust him, I don't trust his employers. And they are the last people on Earth I want to know about my... uniqueness," 'Chele stated emphatically, worry lines appearing on her face to counterpoint her adamancy.

Okay, so she had a point. That weird government agency Kev worked for didn't do a whole lot for Darien's confidence either, and he suspected part of the reason Kevin had been so brusque over the whole arrest and prison thing was because of pressure he was under from work. Kevin had let a few things slip here and there that implied he was not very satisfied with the direction his research was taking, but that he also had no easy way out.

"All right, no Kevin." He toyed with a piece of melon for a couple minutes as he sorted through his thoughts. It was obvious she was running scared, but he wasn't sure how he could help. "Michele, I'm willing to risk the... danger. I may not have the right degrees to understand all the technical jargon, but that doesn't mean I can't help. You know as well as I do an outside perspective is sometimes very valuable."

"You have no idea what you'd be getting into," she hissed, that dark fear lacing her words.

"Doesn't matter." He forestalled her protest with a sharp hand motion. "You got pissed off because I didn't tell you I was in prison... to try and protect you. You've been keeping this a secret for years, hell, at least a decade. Don't you think its time you trusted me, trusted my judgment with whatever it is?" There was no anger audible in his voice and only a hint of frustration, but she picked up on both, her entire body sagging in resignation.

"I do trust you, Darien, more than you will ever know. I'm afraid," she admitted. "Afraid it'll change how you see me, that you'll feel you can't be _you_ around me any more. And I don't want to lose you." The last was said at a bare whisper, the tangled emotions written on every line of her body for him to see.

"You won't lose me. I can't see me not wanting you in my life. We're more than friends, Michele, and all the crap and piddly-shit don't mean nothing so long as we deal with it together." He paused, his words making her shake and hug her arms about herself. Whatever the truth was, it was _big_ and she was obviously still reluctant to talk to him about it. "Does my having been in prison change how you see me?"

"Yes," she replied truthfully, surprising him with the answer. "But does it change how I feel? Not really. It'll take a lot more than that to make me even consider walking away."

"So the fact that I'm ... that I was...," He couldn't finish the sentence and wondered if he'd ever be able to say the words, '_ I was raped_' aloud. "Doesn't make a difference?"

"Only in that I'm worried about you and want to help you heal however I can. I'm still here and will be for a long as you want me in your life, I promise you that." She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it away from her face, and allowing him a clear view of her eyes.

"Then let me help you," he pleaded, taking her hands into his. 

"I... I'll think about it, okay?" At his dark look she added, "Trust me, if I just blurt it out you wouldn't believe me for a second. And I want to make some ... contingency plans in the event of trouble. My concerns about certain people discovering the truth about me are very real, Darien, and I will do what I can to protect you."

Her quiet sincerity swayed him. "All right, but no more evasions. Got me?"

She nodded and set about to change the topic. "You doing okay? You still seem... off."

Satisfied with her concessions, he allowed the shift to take place. "I guess I am. I spent so much time trying to ignore what happened that it's not that easy to deal with now that I can. Denial is a wonderful state to visit, but you can't stay there forever."

"And you've had months to think about what happened, and why, and what you could have done to prevent it. Worked over and worn out every possible variable and only now have a willing ear to listen, soothe you and tell you it was not your fault," 'Chele summed up efficiently. "I wish I had been there to help you. Hell, I wish I'd been there to _hurt_ the bastards who did this to you."

Darien forced himself to not reveal his shock at the anger in her tone, anger he knew wasn't directed at him. "Now you understand why I reacted the way I did."

"Darien, I always understood." She shook her head and chuckled softly. "Remember your birthday party at the lake and John's gift?"

How could he forget having a couple dozen spiders crawling all over him and triggering his phobia in such an extreme manner he'd literally blacked out for several minutes afterward? "You were ready to feed John his own limbs." He instantly made the connection. "Huh, guess we both understand." He knew there were very few people he felt that protective of. 'Chele was pretty much at the top of that list and it had taken until now for him to realize he'd been on hers for a very long time. 

Wanting to lighten the mood from such dark serious topics he tweaked her nose. "What say we find out if that big old television of yours works?"

"Nah, nothing but talk shows and soaps on this time of day." She tapped him with the purple petals of the flower. "I was thinking it was time to take advantage of you."

"Oh really," he responded, one eyebrow going up. This was more than just a change in topic. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Aside from the fact it's durned fun?" she quipped, smiling at him for a second before sobering. "It's the easiest way to show you that what happened doesn't matter and you need that boost in self-confidence right now. I'm comfortable for you, safe, and you know I won't hurt you. Someone you just met can't give you that."

"So your suggestion of calling Katrina was just a bluff?" He couldn't resist the urge to call her on that one, but she wasn't so easily distracted.

"No, that was before I knew you'd been hurt," Michele explained. "I think you two could hit it off and I hope you'll call her once I've headed back home. Hope you've regained some confidence in yourself." 

"So you're thinking a little sex therapy and I'll be all better?" While an interesting idea, even he knew that wouldn't work.

She shook her head. "I'm thinking it'll be a start and no more. I _know_ how long it can take to really heal, to go into another's arms and not see _him_ instead of the person I want to be with. To _not_ have a panic attack when a particular phrase is said in the heat of the moment. As do you since you were there for most of it." She shifted, then moved the well-denuded tray off the bed and settled on her knees right before him so that they were eye-to-eye. "It took me eight months to get to that point, to where I could trust even you that far. But then again, you got to walk me through it from the beginning. I've arrived in time for the second act in your case; I missed the meltdown that happened in the first. I just wanna make sure you keep healing."

"Ah, 'Chele, just you being here does that." But he still found himself reaching out to her, his hand curving about her neck and drawing her in for a gentle kiss. She was right; she was comfortable, safe and still the best damn thing in his life.


	17. Chapter 17

***

June 1999

Music: _Ordinary Day_ by Vanessa Carlton

Darien tapped the tickets against the palm of his hand and paced back and forth by the entrance of the zoo. It had been her choice of where to meet this time around and it wasn't like he minded all that much. The place was perfect for a lazy day hanging out together. Lifting his head and looking about he finally spotted her, that red hair unmistakable even when pulled back into a braid that hung casually over one shoulder, the color vivid against the cool purple of the shirt she wore.

"Hey, D," 'Chele said as she drew near. With an ease that always stunned him, she went to her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss in greeting, which he gladly returned, one of his hands coming up to cup her face. Backing away slightly, her fingers trailed down his forearms as she asked, "All right, who is she?"

Darien chuckled softly. He should have known she'd figure it out almost immediately, especially since he knew how sensitive she was to his emotions. In truth, his newest relationship didn't change how he felt about Michele in the least; she was still his best damn friend in the whole world. It just made their footing less intimate this time around. Nothing they hadn't dealt with plenty of times before. She'd been right about him. When he fell for someone else, Michele just didn't set his libido racing like she usually did.

"Casey O'Claire," he told her with a smile.

"All right, bub, you've been keeping this a secret from me. How long?" She didn't sound the least bit upset and was smiling happily. She appeared to be just as thrilled as he was that he'd found someone and Darien could only sigh in relief. He'd had some small concern she'd be upset or maybe even jealous. He should have known better.

He waved for her to proceed to the entrance, and within moments they were in the zoo proper. "Six weeks," he answered with a grin. Just thinking about Casey made his heart race these days. "And I wasn't keeping it a secret, you've been busier than usual. I didn't think I should leave the news on your answering machine or tell you in an e-mail."

'Chele snickered. "You mean like you did with Stacey?"

Darien laughed and draped an arm about her shoulders. He didn't even have to ask, and they began to wander in the direction that would eventually lead them to Cat Canyon, 'Chele's first stop of preference whenever she visited the zoo. "Damn, has it been that long since I've fallen this hard?" he mused aloud.

"Sounds right, and Stacey was, what? A year ago?" 'Chele poked him in the side with a finger, which made him grunt and flinch, but not release her. "You need to get laid more often, D."

"Then maybe you need to be in town more often, kitten," he countered with a laugh, using the nickname he'd come up with back in the fall of '94.

"I don't live _that _far away. Maybe you should get yourself a car, finally, and drive your ass up to my place now and then." 'Chele's tone was fully amused, knowing his reasons for not owning a car the last few years. That one accident, though not his fault, had put the fear of god in him when it came to driving, and living here in San Diego a car wasn't really all that necessary. He was willing to concede she did have a point, however. Perhaps it was time to think about buying one; it wasn't as if money was an issue these days.

While Michele seemed calm, even happy there was a subtle hint that the feelings were at least partially forced. When she'd called a couple months ago to plan this little get-together it had been obvious to him she needed the break, the chance to get away from her day-to-day life and just be 'Chele for a while. "So, tell me what's going on. I thought work had eased up a bit?"

'Chele sighed as they turned towards the Sydney & Friends exhibit to pick up the winding back route to the canyon. "It has. The vaccine is in long term animal testing with the most favorable of the simulations. I'm doing oversight on several smaller projects right now. Time consuming, but comparably easy."

"And your personal research? Any luck finding the missing trigger sequence?" Not for the first time he marveled at her. Ever since she'd finally told him some of what she and Uncle Peter had figured out over the years he'd been he been even more amazed at her ability to just be herself. Learning she was an empath had been one hell of a shock, while at the same time it explained so much about her. All those odd little happenings over the years suddenly made sense. 

At first, much as she had feared, his perception of her shifted and he found himself always wondering what she knew, tried to keep his emotions in check so she wouldn't pick up on them. If his reaction bothered her, she made a point to not show it, not comment, not allow it to change how she behaved towards him though he knew it must have cost her dearly to do so. After a few months he realized he was being a fool. Michele was no different, still the same wonderful person he'd known for so many years. His knowing the truth, a truth he'd practically demanded from her, couldn't change that.

"Not yet," she answered, sounding irritated with herself. "Damn bugger is being a bitch to track down. I _know_ it can be done I'm just... missing something."

"And you still won't fill me in on this one." When she stiffened, he knew a storm was brewing, one he didn't want to turn into a tempest. "Down girl, I'm not asking." Darien knew 'Chele was determined to prove her parents' theories correct even if she couldn't really explain how she'd come to be gifted with the results of their, thought to be theoretical, work. She pushed and she experimented, ran simulations and tested the results on herself all in the name of science. After she'd filled him in on the basics he'd sensed there was more. If she'd been reluctant to tell him what was going on with the simple stuff, her empathy, her habit of frying electronics, then she was downright terrified to tell him the rest. While inordinately curious, he'd still known this was not one to push her on and had backed down. What he knew was more than enough. "You still having control issues?"

She shook her head; the relief that he'd not pushed on the mystery subject evident in her posture. "No, or rather, yes, but not the same ones."

Darien chuckled. "That made no sense."

"It did to me," she grumbled, bumping his hip as they turned down the smaller path past the bird exhibit and Kiwi house. "The power thing is under control, no more blowing up light bulbs or toasting delicate pieces of electronics for me." She flipped a hand out, a small spark flying off the end of a finger to land on the ground and disperse instantly like some odd version of static electricity. "Though why it never dawned on me that sensing energy and being able to discharge it were the same ability is beyond me."

"'Cause you were too close to the problem. A different perspective and all." Darien had been the one to point out that the seeming two abilities were actually the same one. "So now what? You still spiking?"

"Yeah, though not as often, but when I do..." she rubbed her forehead. "I just wish I had some idea of why. What I'm having is contact problems. Receiving _and_ sending emotions through touch."

Darien grunted softly as he considered for a moment, reviewing what she had explained about how her empathic abilities worked. "I thought that was normal, to a degree anyway." He had only been slightly surprised to learn he'd been on the receiving end of her emotions many times over the years, which explained many of the instances when he just _knew_ things about her.

"With people I'm close to, yes, but in the last six months it's been _anyone_. I've gotten the full symphony of emotions through a first handshake and had two potential relationships nipped in the bud." She shuddered. "The second I can only thank god I avoided, as he was a sick bastard once past the handsome exterior."

"I'd count that as a plus, then. You certainly don't need another son of a bitch like that in your life," Darien observed dryly. It may have been ten years, but neither of them had forgotten.

"Speaking of SOBs..." 'Chele inserted a purposeful dramatic pause and Darien had to resist the urge to goose her back into verbal motion. "Jess called."

Darien stopped dead, arresting her forward motion as well, and shifted until he was facing her. "You all right? He didn't hurt you or nothing, did he?" He was instantly on alert, ready to do whatever was necessary to make sure she was safe.

"I'm fine. It's not like he showed up on my doorstep with a bunch of thugs to carry me away," she assured him. "It was rather odd, in fact. I didn't even recognize his voice at first." 'Chele chuckled ruefully. "A year ago I probably would have ended the call with tears and a bad case of the shakes. I guess I've gotten over it... as much as I can anyway."

"Good," Darien stated. It had been a long time coming and he was glad she'd finally found some peace inside herself where Jess was concerned. He allowed her to urge him back into motion as he asked, "So what'd he want?"

'Chele tipped her head slightly to the side, resting against his arm as they walked. He'd seen her do this before and knew she was pulling the conversation up from that incredible mind of hers. He knew she could repeat it verbatim if he asked her to.

"It's weird; he didn't really _want_ anything. It was a few days after I got clued into the slime-ball." Michele leaned against Darien for a moment, as if in need of comfort, which he was more than willing to give her. "Last time Jess called was Thanksgiving of '94 to give his condolences on my parents' deaths. He dug in every knife he could that time, but this..." She shivered lightly in the warm air. "This bothered me, not Jess per se, but what he said. For some completely insane reason he reminded me of those 'we want you' calls I get from the DOD. Smooth, slick, oily under the pretty words."

"Used car salesman." Darien felt the shock of realization run through her. "Or a really good con-man. I'll let you buy from me what we both know you don't really want. A very tricky con, but it can net a major pay-off if done just right." He paused on the final curve of the trail before they picked up Cat Canyon proper when she began to visibly shake in reaction to his words. "It's a con that relies heavily on the subtle use of reverse psychology and..." He trailed off as she shook even harder.

"'Chele, you okay?" He tipped her face to get a good look at her, and expecting the worst, he realized with some amusement that she was laughing silently, tears rimming her eyes in reaction. He was at a total loss as to what had brought on this sudden attack of the sillies. "Michele?"

She met his confused gaze for one instant before she shook her head and looked away. Darien set a hand on her back and steered her off the trail while she tried to regain some sort of control. It took several minutes, but she was finally able to suck in one long breath and began wiping away the tears that had spilled over to run down her cheeks. When she spoke he could still hear the laughter just behind the words.

"Only you could spot that so quickly," she finally got out around a snicker. "Pulled it off yourself a time or two, I take it?"

Unable to help the smugness he knew she would feel, Darien nodded. "Yep, a few times. Put a fair amount of cash into that rainy day fund of mine."

"Rainy day fund, my ass." 'Chele ignored his attempt at distraction as he leaned back to glance at her denim encased rear. "I _know_ most of that money goes to care for Celia." She wagged a finger at him as he snapped back to his full height and prepared to deny her words for all he was worth, but she ran over the top of him. "And don't you dare try to deny it. Kevin only provided the basics and Celia has far more than that. 'Sides, I've added to that account myself." She gave him one of those genuine shy smiles that were so very rare and that he treasured. "I'll hate to see the house sold."

Darien sighed; he had been surprised by Celia's decision as well. It made sense, though. Both he and Kevin had their own lives away from Cold Springs. Celia was now at Marymount - an assisted living facility where she could get the care she needed. "Me too, in some ways," he admitted grudgingly. Most of his favorite memories from that house involved Michele. "It may have not been the world's greatest childhood, but it was still mine."

"That it was," 'Chele agreed. "But I think you have one or two good memories associated with the place."

Darien smiled and ducked his head. "A few," he admitted and then intentionally changed the subject, not wanting to discuss the distant past when the future was looking up. "So can I assume you didn't fall for Jess' con?"

"You'd hurt me if I got taken with something so obvious, even if I only realized it subconsciously." 'Chele began walking again and Darien fell into step beside her. "I wonder what he was really trying to sell me?" she mused aloud.

"Does it matter? You ain't buying any, right?" They exited the Kiwi Trail and turned left on to the canyon pathway. They could see others wandering the pathway opposite, as well as a few on the road itself that separated the two sides of the canyon.

"I suppose not. It'll just bug me, like everything else he's done over the years." With a sigh, Michele twisted her neck as if the muscles were tight.

He set his hands on her shoulders and dug his thumbs into the muscles of her upper back, finding her astonishingly tight. "I'm gonna hafta start charging you for this," he commented as she groaned in obvious relief.

"By the hour or salaried?" 'Chele got out breathlessly, her forward motion only slowing slightly in response to his ministrations. 

As the shirt shifted he noticed the silver chain about her neck and was pretty sure he recognized it. Reaching about, he pulled it free from her shirt revealing the rough-cut ruby hanging from the artistically designed setting that showed off the subtle beauty of the plain stone. When he'd discovered several rubies in his cache of jewels that were a near perfect match to the color of 'Chele's hair he'd decided then and there that he would give them to her. After agonizing for weeks what to do with the half-dozen stones, in the end he simply had them polished and mounted in understated white gold settings. He'd given her the set, which included a bracelet, earrings, a ring and the necklace she currently wore, for Christmas of 1994. 

'Chele slowed and then stopped before one of the leopard habitats and turned about to face him. "Michele," he said softly, guilt suddenly eating at him. "I didn't realize you wanted..."

Michele interrupted him. "Wanted to spend some time with you?"

Darien shook his head. "No, that you were expecting us to... to be..." He stumbled to a verbal halt as she turned about to look at him, the gem still between his fingers.

"I _never_ expect that, D, which you should know by now. Its been a couple years since we've gotten together, what with you sowing your wild oats and all." 'Chele removed the ruby from his hand and tucked it back into her shirt. "I wear this often, Darien, not as some mating signal for you."

"Michele," Darien spluttered, taken aback by her bluntness for a moment. "Damn, you just don't pull your punches, do ya?"

She frowned slightly and took up forward motion again, though at a far slower pace. "Do I need to?"

Darien remained motionless, leaning back against the fencing while she walked away, and considered her words. He had to admit she had a point; while they might occasionally dance around subjects each knew the other to be sensitive about, they had never found a reason to hold back or to be anything but brutally honest with each other. By some miracle they had still remained friends over the years and had suffered very little in the way of hurt feelings. 

Darien turned his head to look at Michele as she stopped in front of the jaguar enclosure, her arms resting on the top of the fencing as she stared into the depths of the display. He didn't want to start putting up walls between them after all this time. Michele was the one person who'd stuck by his side through everything and he knew that unless he pushed her away she would remain there. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and strolled over to her, intentionally bumping into her back. "Hey."

"'Hey,' what?" she asked, her focus on the sole occupant of the expansive cage before them.

"Look, I'm sorry." He shifted to stand beside her, his back against the railing she was resting on. "I'd rather you be dead honest with me than lie." He sighed and looked away from her toward the entrance to the amphitheater across the road. 

"No matter how much it hurts?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah," he agreed, then nudged her with his elbow. "'Sides, you're usually pretty good about patching up the wounds after." That broke the thin film of ice that had formed and he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye when she tipped her head up to look at him.

"I take the new look is gonna stick around for a bit?"

Darien knew she was referring to the fact he'd started spiking his hair up, which gave the appearance of adding several inches to his height. The cut itself was similar to the one she'd suggested for him years ago, just shorter and styled differently. He liked the look and thought it added a dash of danger to his otherwise common appearance. "For a while, anyway. You hate it, don't you?"

'Chele laughed softly. "No, it suits you. Though the fuzz is awfully cute," she commented about his attempt at a goatee and mustache. "Gives you a touch of the dark side there, Luke."

"Luke? I was going for Han Solo," he responded, one hand coming up to run over his chin, the rough hairs scratchy against his finger tips.

"The whole rogue with the heart of gold thing?" She turned sideways, leaning one elbow on the top of the fence. He turned his head to meet her eyes, which had become a glorious light gray over the years, the blue having long since been bleached away. With her vibrant hair color, it gave her a unique and distinctive look. "You looking for redemption the way Han was?"

"Redemption? What for?" He wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. Yeah, he was a thief, but it wasn't like he mugged little old ladies for their pension checks. One of the few things that stuck with him from the days he ran with Liz Morgan was if you do the job right nobody should get hurt. Hell, the few times he'd been caught had been sheer bad luck rather than being sloppy or stupid. Not once had he been caught with the goods on him, and he had only the one conviction. He was damn proud of the fact he'd never resorted to using force or weapons with his marks. He was a cat-burglar, not a hired thug, and he performed his _job_ with the stealth and finesse he knew it deserved. "Kitten, I'm just trying to live my life, is all."

Michele turned away from him to watch the black jaguar sleeping on the ledge in the back of the enclosure. As Darien watched she closed her eyes and within moments the big cat began to stir from its slumber. He slowly got to his feet, stretched for long minutes, a huge yawn escaping from him, before lazily wandering in their direction. The giant feline settled right before them and began to leisurely clean itself. 'Chele opened her eyes and smiled slightly.

"You cheat, you know that?" Darien commented, leaning down to speak almost directly into her ear; no need for the others also observing the animal to overhear their conversation. 

"I don't cheat, I creatively persuade," she countered and waved at the sleek jaguar. "He don't seem to mind all that much."

"Dr. Dolittle has nothing on you, babe." Darien ran a hand through his hair and then mimicked her position. "What's his name again?"

"Orson," 'Chele answered in a hushed voice as the cat turned to look right at her, vivid green-yellow eyes practically glowing in the shadowed interior of his cage. "You remind me of him."

Darien was taken aback. "I remind you of a big jungle cat? Okay, I guess I can see that." 

'Chele snickered. "Not like that." She did ... something and Orson lay down, blinking sleepily at the collection of humans watching him. "You're both sleek, strong incredible beings who are caged. Entrapped and limited from your full potential," she said softly, her voice sounding as if it came from far away. "I don't like seeing you unhappy, Dare."

"I'm not," he protested. "Caged or unhappy."

"Darien... I'm gonna be blunt here, okay?" She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't even seem to find the will to look at him.

"Sure," he replied, wondering what she was seeing in him this time.

"Ever since your arrest last fall you've seemed...different." She shook her head. "It's like you have this darkness inside you that you can't get rid of. Did something happen when you were in jail that you didn't mention?"

He wanted to say 'no' and leave it at that, but since it was obvious that she had picked up on what occurred, there was little point in denying it at the moment. "Yeah, I was stuck sharing a cell with one of the... one of my..." She set a hand on his arm, cutting off his words, for which he was thankful.

"Its all right, sweets, I understand. You still haven't healed completely and had the wound ripped open," she summed up in a gentle voice and he nodded. "I wish I could take it all away for you, make it so it never happened."

"I know," Darien stated. "There have been many days I've wished the same." He set a hand over hers, knowing her words were as true as any she had ever spoken. "Did I ever thank you for bailing me out?"

"Often," she said as she turned to lean her forehead against his biceps, her hand snaking about to rest on his abdomen. He could feel the waves of concern coming off of her. "Oh, I confirmed the change to the P.O. Boxes. They'll contact me in 60 days if you don't pick up the packages. Don't forget you can drop to mine as well."

"You're too good to me," he rumbled.

"Not possible, I'm your friend. Though you do have me worried." 'Chele hadn't shifted, her face still pressed into his arm as if needing comfort to get through this discussion. "Three of your now former clients called me. They each wanted to know why you chose not to renew your contract for another year of tutoring." She lifted her head then. "I'm wondering why myself. Dr. Harris has been a loyal client for years, and his kids adore you. Especially James, since you're the reason he got that scholarship to Princeton." 

Yet another thing he hadn't spoken to her about and he wasn't sure how he could explain his reasoning. After having that last B&E case thrown out on technicality he'd simply found that teaching didn't provide the rush it once had. It was the same kids year after year, kids he'd already shown the joy of delving into the heart of even the most difficult of novels and finding the hidden meanings. He'd kept his two newer clients and still volunteered with after-school programs, one of which that very Dr. Harris had put in a good word for when his prison experience had come up. "'Chele, I..."

"Darien, you used to love teaching so much and now ... now it feels like all you're after is the quick rush. The one you get by planning and pulling off the perfect heist or con." When his brows drew together she shifted her hand to tap him gently on the chest. "I am not passing judgment, I promise. You have always loved thieving, allowing that facet of your personality its own avenue of expression. _That _I understand. Somewhere in the last few years it's just overtaken teaching as your first love."

Darien shrugged to cover his irritation. It certainly sounded like she was judging him. "People change, Michele. Shit happens and you do what you can to adjust, to adapt to the new situation. Would you prefer I remained exactly like I was when I was 17?"

If she was hurt by his harsh tone, she didn't show it. "No, but there's a difference between adapting and making a choice. You _chose_ to reduce your tutoring clients and spend more time stealing." She sighed and stepped away from him, and he guessed she was picking up on the anger and disappointment that he was feeling. "I just want you happy, D, and with the sole exception of this new love in your life, you aren't, not really. And it feels like not even you are certain why."

Darien stood there in sullen silence for long minutes while she did nothing more than watch the jaguar, and he knew she was giving him time to mull over her words. But he was reluctant to, because every time she forced him to look at his life, at what he was doing and why, he would discover that she was correct, that she had read his motives and reasons far more clearly than he ever could. What really annoyed him was that her ability to read him, to know what was in his heart, had very little to do with her _talent_ and everything to do with the fact that she knew and cared for him more than anyone else on the planet.

If anyone else had said he was unhappy he would have argued and cited numerous reasons that would contradict that perception, but now he found his tongue stilled even as he became thoroughly annoyed with her. Probing at his life in recent years he kept coming back to one painfully sore point that, most of the time, he shoved to the back of his mind and forgot. And he realized, with some discomfort that he was, in many ways, living up to those sharply hurled words from a couple years ago.

Obviously knowing where his mind had circled around to, 'Chele found her voice and spoke up softly. "You still haven't reconciled with Kevin, have you?"

"Why the hell should I?" Darien snapped, not bothering to put in the minimal effort required to keep his voice down. Several people glanced over at them, some frowning, and Darien ducked his head and lowered his voice. "You know what he did, what he said. Why should I even give him the time of day after that?" Darien was still nursing that wound even after all this time. It was Kevin's insults and total disbelief that his younger brother could ever be anything beyond a two-bit, petty thief following in their father's footsteps that kept Darien from exchanging anything more than the most cursory and necessary of information even after all this time.

"Because he's your brother, Darien. Your family. And you don't have much more that you can afford to lose," Michele said in an oddly plaintive tone.

Darien snarled, "I'll make my own family, 'Chele. Find people who give a damn about _me,_ and not with keeping up precious appearances. Crap, he even gave me the whole 'I'm ruining the family name' speech." He snorted derisively. "Like it's not already tarnished beyond recovery. Shit, even Uncle Pete never pulled that one on me." Kevin's comments had _hurt_, had knocked Darien down and very nearly made him feel ashamed of who he was and what he had accomplished. Just because he wasn't some great miracle of modern science didn't mean his life held any less meaning, any less value than Kevin's oh so precious one. Unlike Michele, Kevin still saw Darien as that 17 year-old hell-raiser and had never bothered looking beyond that point.

"I know what Kevin said and I've chewed his ass out about it on the rare occasions he's contacted me. He knows he screwed up, though he'll never admit it to you." 'Chele shook her head in obvious dismay. "You two have no idea how alike you are."

"We are_ nothing_ alike," Darien hissed in a dangerous voice, which didn't impress her at all.

"Then why do you seem to be trying to turn yourself into exactly what he accuses you of being?" Her tone was completely devoid of any emotion, as if she was stating nothing more than dry facts at one of the more boring conferences she'd attended over the years.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, wanting to say something, _anything_ to refute her words, but finding himself unable to as he'd made the same observation about himself many times in recent weeks. "Damn it, 'Chele."

"Just think about things, okay? I hate it when you two fight, and if you keep holding onto grudges like this..." She gave him a weak smile and poked him in the ribs. "You still might need him to save your ass one day, ya know."

Darien rolled his eyes. "I'd have to be neck deep in major crap for_ that_ to happen." He wanted to stay angry for some reason he couldn't readily explain. He wanted to distance himself from his brilliant brother and make his own way in the world without the Great Kevin Fawkes looking down his nose at him and detailing every little thing in Darien's life that was perceived as not good enough. 

"Dare," 'Chele warned, her irritation plain in her tone.

"All right, I'll think about it, okay?" It wasn't so much giving in as letting the topic drift away for later perusal. "You had enough of the big kitty cat yet?"

Michele laughed. "For now. Where to, bub?"

He considered for a moment as they began to walk along the pathway. "How about the aviary? You can commune with the birds for a while."

"Sounds good to me." 

They walked along in silence until they reached the turning that would take them to the exhibits they wanted. Darien allowed the previous conversation to slip to the back of his mind. He would consider everything she'd said, but right now he simply wanted to enjoy her company. He was trying to find a way to restart the conversation and work up to what he was concerned might be a touchy topic when she took it out of his hands.

"So how did you meet..."

"Casey," Darien filled in, feeling a little thrill run through him that always seemed to happen when he thought about her. "By luck of the unusual kind. I was packing up the gear after a successful night and while coiling the rope I cut my hand on a piece of metal imbedded in it." He'd made a nice haul that night, cleared almost 50 grand in under 10 minutes. "I bled everywhere."

They made their way down the staircase to the Rain Forest Aviary side by side. "I don't get it," 'Chele said in confusion. "She work where you store your stuff or something?"

Darien laughed. "Nah, she was the ER doc that patched me up."

"Oh ho, _Doctor_ O'Claire is it? You have a thing for smart women, you realize." Michele held open the door to the aviary and Darien turned about to face her, walking backwards onto the shaded interior.

"Smart, beautiful women," Darien corrected, reaching out to tap her on the nose. "While she patched up my hand we started talking and..."

"You snagged yourself a date. So, she doesn't mind you being a thief?" Michele asked in perfect innocence as she pointed to a vibrantly hued bird perched on a nearby branch.

"Ummm, she doesn't know." Darien admitted with great reluctance, fully expecting a lecture of some sort, but instead she snickered.

"Jeeze, D, what _did_ you tell her? That you teach?" 

"No, I kinda... lied." He still wasn't sure why he'd failed to tell Casey the truth right from the start, but when she'd asked what he did for a living he _knew_ 'I'm a thief' would go over like a ton of lead bricks. And 'I'm a teacher' just didn't sound like something that would catch her attention. So instead he'd tossed off the first thing he could think as he spotted the UNICEF poster hanging in the room. From there it had snowballed and he'd gone into full con-man mode and had given Casey just enough information to make him sound legitimate without giving any details. At least not until he'd done some research on the local library computers and got his line of patter down.

"You really like her?" 'Chele asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, I really do, 'Chele." Darien more than liked Casey; he was completely and utterly crazy over her.

'Chele rubbed the side of her nose and closed her eyes for a long moment. "Then don't you want her to know the real you? The man who loves teaching kids almost as much as he likes acquiring other people's valuables?"

"It's not that simple," Darien argued, feeling defensive even though he knew she was right. He'd tried and failed several times to tell Casey the truth and for the time being it just seemed easier to go with the lie. There would be a better time to explain why he'd chosen to be what she wanted instead of what he was.

"It _is_ that simple, Darien. I like you just the way you are, and I think if you gave her a chance she would as well." She gave him a wry grin and dropped the subject, exchanging it for one that made no sense to him at first blush. "You still living in that rat trap over in La Playa?"

"Hey, I like my 'rat trap.' It's got an ocean view and everything." Darien complained with a laugh. The place was cheap, but clean and easy to take care of and that was all that really mattered to him.

"A'course you do. You keep it spotless so when the cops come a-calling they won't find a damn thing and it'll be easy to put to rights after they're done tossing the place. I remember that lesson." 'Chele said in merriment. "If you ever want to make a night of it, you can use my place. Just check to make sure I'm not in town first, 'kay? Be embarrassing to have you come tromping in with your girl to find me getting busy with ... a friend."

Darien chuckled and shook his head. He knew that relationships had been few and far between for Michele in recent years, the two she'd mentioned earlier the first he knew of in the last year. Her abilities had been causing enough problems for her that close contact with anyone she didn't know very well was difficult at best and downright painful at worst. "You hanging onto the place?"

'Chele nodded. "My home away from home." She reached for his hand. "May I?"

"Uh, sure." He held out his left hand and watched as she traced her fingers along the scar on his palm that was still a faint red. "What's up, doc?"

"Interesting," she murmured. "Look here." Her carefully manicured fingernail traced along a natural line in his palm. "The scar crosses your life and fate lines."

Darien snorted. "What you're a palm reader now?"

'Chele shrugged. "Greg had a book on it in his desk, his girlfriend was heavy into the stuff and he got curious. I borrowed it over a lunch break."

"So what does it mean?" Darien asked out of sheer curiosity. He was definitely not a big believer in predestination or fate.

She traced the various lines a few times, while pondering the meaning. "Well, see here..." She pointed to the spots where the scar intersected the lines on his palm. "They are slightly offset now, due to the scar." She turned her head to look up at him. "Your lady Doc did a good job. In a few months you'll never even know it happened."

"You're stalling. Spill, oh Great Madame Alexandra. Read me my fortune." Darien said around a huge grin, knowing damn well how she felt about her middle name. "Y'know we could always run away and join the circus. I could perform some legerdemain while you do the whole crystal ball routine and we could take the marks for all they're worth."

'Chele tipped her head down, laughing. "If you had asked me when we were kids I might very well have taken you up on that."

"Okay, you talked me out of running away all those times and just _now_ you tell me all I had to do was ask you to come along?" He curled his fingers about hers and shifted so he could look her in the eye. He could think of three times he'd been dead serious about taking off and trying to make it on his own all while he was still under the age of 16 and she had calmly talked him out of it. Typically he spent the next school break with her. The time away from his family helped to ease the pressures and unhappiness of his often tumultuous home life.

"Yes," she responded softly, shocking the hell out of him. "Though back then your plans generally consisted of heading south and parking your ass on a beach. At least this time you have a goal in mind."

He wasn't sure what to say; just the fact that she would have run off with him left his mind whirling and wondering what it all meant. He'd never imagined the lengths she might go to for him. Clearing his throat, he wiggled his fingers. "Well? What does it all mean?"

"Sinze zhe scar crozzez both your life and fate linez you will zee a great change in zhe direction of your life," 'Chele explained in the cheesiest gypsy fortune-teller voice she could manage. "Your life will take an unexpected turn, though for zhe better or zhe worse I cannot zay. Zhe future iz alwayz zhrouded in myztery."

Darien was torn between hilarity and this odd compunction to believe her regardless of the accent and the intentional effort on her part to make it a game. "When?" he asked in hushed voice.

"Who knows," 'Chele responded. "A lifeline isn't a timeline." She shrugged, running her finger over it one last time. "Sometime after now." She released his hand and tipped her head up to meet his eyes, and it was a good bet she caught the seriousness that had settled upon him. "D, it doesn't mean anything."

Darien lifted his hand up to look at the scar for a moment, before he made a fist, opening and closing it a couple of times as he noted the lingering stiffness. "You sure about that? Thought this was a science..." He watched her wrinkle her nose. "Of a sort. Some people swear by it."

"Oh, come on, D, you are the one person who knows if your line of patter is convincing and the trappings you surround it with are believable _anyone_ will buy it." "Chele seemed to search his eyes for long minutes as if trying to understand him. "Darien, I don't believe in any fate other than the one we make for ourselves. Our choices, our decisions, our lives. There's no trio of women manipulating the strands of some giant tapestry to make sure we end up where we're supposed to be." She turned away, crossing the walkway and turning about to face him. "Think about it, D. Imagine how different your life, hell, my life might be if I had chosen _not_ to call you that first time."

Darien did and shivered lightly, bumps rising upon his flesh as that prophetic goose stepped on the place where, in some distant future, his body would be laid to rest. "I wouldn't be here that's for damn sure," he grumbled softly. 

"Not true. You just wouldn't be here with me." 'Chele corrected, her logic flawless as always.

"But you are here," he stated, pushing away from the rail and moved to stand before her.

"Yes, I am." 'Chele gave him a wry smile. "And quite content with the way _fate_ brought us together, bub."

Darien brought one hand up to play with a curl that had pulled free from her braid. It was a habit he'd developed over long years. One that he'd never bothered trying to break, especially since she didn't seem to mind. "So'm I, babe." They held that tableau for a moment before she shifted and began walking along the elevated pathway, admiring the simulated rainforest about them. He caught up with her in three long strides. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to meet Casey. Just dinner, nothing formal or anything like that." He stuttered to a halt, feeling awkward for some reason.

"I won't read her for you, D. Won't give you any insights into how she feels about you." Michele told him without it somehow becoming the reprimand it should be.

He shook his head. "Nothing like that, I promise. I just thought my best friend and my ... girlfriend should at least get along." He scratched the back of his head, positive he was going about this all wrong. Screwing up his courage, he lowered his voice and told her the unvarnished truth. "I think she might be the one, 'Chele."

"Yes, you do," she agreed. "Glad you didn't make me have to drag it out of you. Are you sure about this? I am not gonna vamoose from your life if she dislikes me. Not unless _you_ ask me to."

"Not gonna happen, 'Chele. I want you in my life come hell or high water." He stopped her before the staircase. "If nothing else I'm sure you two can discuss medical stuff. I'd be very surprised if she hasn't heard of you."

"Right. I'm not some movie star with my face and name being flashed across 30 foot screens six showings a day. I may be known, but trust me when I say it's not that big a playing field." Going up one step, she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "I'd be honored to meet your lady, Darien."

He sighed softly, relieved things had gone so well, glad she was still here and hopeful she would be for a long time to come. "Thanks, 'Chele."

"No need." And with a sprightly step she headed up to the next level of the aviary, pointing out the birds to him as she went.


	18. Chapter 18

***

May 2000

This hiss of the rope as it slid through the near-frictionless pulley near his head was all he could hear over the rush of adrenaline infused blood pounding in his ears. Even the sound of the few late night cars driving on the street far below him was lost in the intervening distance. This was one of the more exciting parts of jobs like this, beating the odds to pull off the theft, making the seeming impossible appear as easy as breathing. They might joke about his "trained monkey act," but with it he'd pulled off some major hauls, leaving both the former owners and the cops scratching their heads as to how the job had been done.

Cracking the safe, once inside, would almost be a letdown in comparison. He'd been doing it for so long, with an ever-increasing repertoire of toys and tools that he could do so with a minimum of effort on his part. Most of the work these days came from finding the targets, casing the places and setting everything up just right so that the actual theft went off without a hitch. In the last five years his targets had become more and more high end, though he was very careful not to impinge on the territory of others. In fact, he had this odd preference for stealing from those who walked the edge of legal themselves. Oh, he was no fool and stayed away from the local mobsters and high end dealers and launderers, but politicians, businessman, hell, even lawyers who he knew were a bit more ... liberal with their personal views of the law were fair game in his mind.

This place was a perfect example, owned by a commodities trader who had nearly gone belly up recently, that is until he'd begun trading certain items for one of his clients under the rose bush. His hands were quite dirty by this point, but since he still played the part of a legit businessman, no one suspected he had already fallen down that slippery slope. The guy probably hadn't even realized he was in a hole he'd never get free of at this point. 

Reaching the target floor he hopped smoothly over the balcony rail, detached the rope from the climbing harness, adjusted his tool bag and then lifted the balaclava up to reveal his features. He still sported the mustache and goatee he'd begun growing over a year ago. Glancing back over the railing to get the full vertiginous effect of his climb he grinned unabashedly.

He was reminded of a quote as he dug his lockpicks out of the bag and headed for the French doors that he would be using to gain entry to the apartment. _That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil._ Darien chuckled as those words rolled through his mind, finding them oddly apropos for the current situation. He could remember reading _Beyond Good and Evil_ back in college, but it was the early 19th century copy 'Chele had gotten him for Christmas that he was currently thinking of. 'Chele would be the one person who would understand that he _loved_ his job.

This job.

He occasionally wondered at the deeper meaning of that love, but he generally refused to look too deeply at his penchant for acquiring other's property, as Michele called it. Psychoanalyzing himself on the subject was not something he was overly interested in.

With a quick efficiency he used the picks on the sad excuse for a lock and swung the doors wide as he entered. Granted it was the 23rd story, making the likelihood of a break-in via the outside balcony at least a million to one. He snorted softly. Guess that made him number one. He swapped the picks for a flashlight and scanned it about the room to make sure everything was still as it had been when he'd cased the place. With a barely restrained glee Darien spoke into the darkened room, "Oh yeah."

With unconcern for his bared countenance he strode to the portrait hanging on a nearby wall. He knew the security for this building was focused on intruders coming in through the interior, so cameras and alarms were focused in the exterior hallways and main doors of the apartments themselves.

He stuck the flashlight in his mouth and lifted the frame off the wall; he made sure to hit the hidden trigger that deactivated the first of the security measures for the safe that was revealed. He set the picture against the wall near his feet then removed the compact power drill from the bag he carried and set to work. Within minutes he had the hole drilled to the depth he needed and put the drill away. Next, he withdrew a small case that looked golden in the light of the flash and inside of which were eight small homemade explosives that were chemically very similar to plastique. Those few chemistry courses he'd taken back in college had paid off, though admittedly in an unusual way. Choosing two, he carefully packed them into the hole and added the pre-wired detonator cap. He attached the wires, double-checked all the connections and then fed out the wire, making sure they didn't tangle as he ducked around the corner of the wall.

The other end of the wires he set into the awaiting places on the handheld detonator that he had to search a bit to find, but after a moment found it stuffed into an odd spot in the bag. He shifted the flashlight from one side of his mouth to the other as he waited a moment for the small green LED to spring to life, signaling the connection worked and was active. Then he flipped the switch.

The _bang_ was no louder than someone dropping a fair sized plate to the floor and should go unnoticed by the neighbors as the construction of this place virtually guaranteed soundproofing between floors, or so the blueprints had assured him. With a prize this valuable he'd made sure to do his homework. Stepping around the corner he nodded in satisfaction at the open door. He quickly coiled the remaining wire and tucked it away along with the detonator. In exchange he withdrew a small electronic device that looked oddly like a PDA, but had alligator clip wires trailing from it.

He activated it and proceeded to set the clips onto specific places on the electronic lock that was on the second safe door that took up about half the interior. He ignored the tightly bundled bills in the open section of the safe, his goal far more valuable than the, comparatively, small change the cash represented. With what was inside this other safe he could actually quit for a while, just like he'd told Casey a week ago when they'd been celebrating their anniversary. 

He dragged himself back to the here and now at the beep that told him he had established a connection. He used the pen to tap a series of commands onto the screen. The lock was tricky, but he managed to override it in just under two minutes. Not his best time by any means with that style of lock, but definitely not his worst either. He would have to remember to send 'Chele a thank you gift for providing him with this newest piece of gear.

He turned the handle and was rewarded with the door swinging open easily. He grinned as the contents were revealed to him and pulled the flashlight from his mouth to examine them in more detail. "Sweet," he crowed sotto voce as he realized there was not the expected single bundle, but two. A gloved hand reached inside and removed one to shine the light over and make sure it was indeed what he was after. Through the multiple layers of clear plastic he could still make out the words 'pay to bearer' and 'Bank of Sierra Leone.' Without hesitation he shifted the empty backpack he wore around and shoved the bundle inside, followed by the second one, once he ascertained it was identical to the first. 

He quickly set about closing the safe doors and replacing the picture back to its spot on the wall. The longer it took for the items to be noticed as missing the colder the trail back to him would become. 

He'd have to make a point at hanging out at that bar more often if there was even the slightest chance of overhearing conversations like the one that lead to this bounty. One last check and he retraced his steps through the French doors, which he locked, and out onto the balcony. With a swift economy of motion he attached the rope to the climbing harness and swung over the side. He compensated for the additional weight on his back, adjusted the traction on the pulley and let himself just slide down the rope at a near free-fall. He counted the floors as he whipped past them and applied the brake so that he touched the ground with no more force than if he was stepping down off a curb. With a practiced flick of his wrist the rope detached itself from the specially rigged carabiner high above to fall in coils and loops about him. 

He quickly coiled the rope and tossed it over his shoulder then jogged for the nearby alleyway where he'd left his current incarnation of a vehicle. It wasn't much, just old '65 Dodge Dart GT in dark green that he'd stumbled across and bought spur of the moment. It had cost him a couple thousand to purchase and he'd put a couple more into it to fix it up. Someone had redone the engine and exhaust system so the beast at least got more than 10 miles to the gallon. He couldn't explain why, but he liked the car.

He opened the trunk, shifted the rug and lifted the floor panel, which revealed an empty spot where one would expect the spare tire. He stripped out of the harness and balaclava, tossed the kit bag into the space after removing the lockpicks and replaced the cover. He set the backpack down and removed his jacket, turning it inside out to reveal the reversible side, which was a dark gray and then placing the lockpicks in an inner pocket. He ran his hands through his hair to make it stand upright again and then glanced at his watch. 1:30 AM, Casey would beheading home from her late shift at Cabrillo in half an hour. With a grin and a sudden urge to celebrate a job well done, he decided to sit on her front stoop and give her an enthusiastic greeting when she arrived home. If he worked things right, they'd be seeing the sunrise before either of them fell asleep.

He had one more thing to do before he could drive over to her place. He grabbed the backpack and slammed the trunk shut before trotting around to the driver's side door. Sliding inside, he reached under the passenger seat for the US Postal service box he'd left underneath. The _to_ and _from_ address sections were already filled out. The _to_ one of his aliases that he used for his PO Boxes and the _from_ a local beauty shop, Mona's, where he bought most of his hair supplies and who he'd worked for a couple years back as a model. They regularly shipped items; another box of this size would go unnoticed among the dozens they sent out during the week.

Still wearing the gloves, he slipped the paper-ream sized bundles out of the backpack and into the box, thankful he'd gone with the larger one since he'd stumbled onto the unexpected windfall. A couple strips were peeled off and it was sealed and ready for mailing. He started the engine, pulled out of the alleyway and turned left onto the one way street. Mona's was just a couple blocks over and he headed there. He parked on the street out front, got out and carried the now nondescript package to the bank of postal boxes that were used by several of the shops on this block. With a quick use of his lockpicks he had the pick-up box open and his box in with the letters and other packages waiting for the local mail carrier to appear in the morning.

He locked the box and strolled back to his car, doing his best to look completely nonchalant and at ease. The few people who drove by would probably have no memory of him or simply assume he was walking back to his car from the bar three doors down. He stripped off his gloves as he got behind the wheel, his fingers grasping and releasing the leather of the steering column as he finally allowed himself to add up the total of his take for tonight. Two bundles at roughly 500 sheets per, with a face value of $1000 each.... 

Oh yeah, he was going to be retiring for a while. Maybe take Casey on a cruise to Acapulco once he'd cashed in some of the bonds. Just kick back, relax and enjoy life for a while.

Damn, he _loved_ his job.


	19. Chapter 19

August 2000

Music: Miracle by Vertical Horizon

Darien pressed the disconnect button and closed his eyes for a long moment. He'd just stumbled his way through telling the bad news to 'Chele's answering machine at home. Damn, how could things fall apart so damn fast?

"Darien?" 

Darien opened his eyes and turned to look at Harold Grabowski, his lawyer who, in all fairness, looked just as shocked at the verdict as Darien felt. "Not home," he muttered, then glanced at the caged clock hanging high on the wall and realized it was just after 2 PM, of course she wouldn't be home.

"Try her cell then. Its not like you're restricted to one phone call," Harry reminded him.

"Right," Darien mumbled, still feeling completely stunned. He was actually hoping the numb feeling would stick around for a while, because he knew that once it wore off reality would pound him into dust. He dialed 'Chele's cell phone, expecting to get her voicemail, and so was struck dumb when she answered after only two rings.

"_Mac here_," she said, sounding distracted. Darien's silence went on for long enough that she grumbled softly then growled, "_Jess, what do you want this time? I'm busy_."

That encouraged him to find his voice. "Not Jess," he got out, his throat suddenly tight with fear and unhappiness.

"_Darien, are you all right_?" The instant concern in her voice was unmistakable.

"'Chele, I...I'm in trouble." He swallowed hard, half expecting a sigh of dismay or an irritated squall so he was both shocked and relieved when she said,

"_I'm on my way_."

***

Darien paced the small room, nervousness eating at him and unable to sit for more than a few seconds at a time, not that the cold steel of either chairs or the table was very comfortable. He tried to ignore his reflection in the so-called mirror that he wandered past every few seconds. The day-glow orange jumpsuit that was his regular wear these days, not doing a whole lot for his currently pale complexion. He was beginning to wonder why the hell he'd been brought to this room that he'd now been stewing in for at least an hour. All he'd been told was that he had a visitor and to wait. Like he could do anything else.

He ran his hands through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck as that feeling of complete and utter hopelessness settled firmly upon his soul. At least they had him as a guest of SDCJ instead of sending him over to RJD until his sentencing one short week from now. He froze in place as the real meaning of those words hit him again. A week and he'd probably be listening to his death sentence being pronounced in open court.

Darien sighed heavily his shoulders slumping in defeat as one shaky hand came up to rub his face, causing him to hiss in pain as he encountered the bruise along his cheek. "Crap," he muttered, dropping his hand back to his side in frustration.

His head snapped up at the sound of a key in the door's lock. It opened a second later to reveal the pissed off countenance of Michele. 

"Careful, Miss, this one's bad news," the guard warned in an overly sweet tone and 'Chele turned her head to shoot a deadly glare over her shoulder at the guy. She moved fully into the room and stood still until the door had been shut.

"'Careful,' my ass. This from one of the jerks insisting they _had_ to strip search me before I came in here," she growled in a low voice.

"Michele?" Darien had been expecting his lawyer, not her, not after two days had passed since he'd called her and she'd said she was on her way.

"Sorry, I took so..." She turned about, her words trailing off as she got a good look at him. "Shit, D, what happened to you?" She was at his side in an instant, one hand reaching up to brush gingerly over the lovely bruise taking up most of the right side of his face.

"My cell mates seemed to take offense to my having sodomized that old man." Darien failed to keep the anger and pain out of his voice, though after a second he chuckled ruefully. "Lovely double-standard considering what goes on inside."

'Chele cupped his cheek, her touch conveying her worry for him. "Crap. They didn't...."

Darien shook his head. "No. Just lots of fists and feet. I'm fine, really. They moved me to an isolation cell right after. Its boring, but far less painful."

Her eyes drifted closed for a long moment before she was able to again meet his. There was this amazing anger buried in their depths of those gray eyes. "Damn it, Dare." Her tone softened. "Sit. It feels like you haven't slept in days."

"That's 'cause I haven't," he acknowledged. He moved back until he was leaning against the table. "I was ... worried you weren't coming," he said softly, not bothering to hide his fright at his current situation even knowing there was an audience on the other side of the mirror.

"D, I am so sorry, but it took a few days to make the arrangements for this meeting. I had to call in some major favors to keep this private," 'Chele explained as she rubbed her hands over her arms as if she was chilled in the warm room. "I haven't even had a chance to sit down with Harry yet, what happened? Last time we spoke you were confident your alibi was more than solid enough."

"I was. Hell, it is. I was with Casey when this went down." Darien shifted, his ribs protesting the movement loudly and with much prejudice, making him groan aloud. 'Chele was there in an instant, her hands running over the damage and drawing a soft growl from between his teeth. "They're not broken," he assured her.

"Crap," she snarled. "If I find out the guards _let_ this happen to you I'll be all over their asses."

Darien couldn't help it, he laughed, but it quickly morphed into a moan as his ribs reminded him he was not at 100 percent. Hell, he wasn't even at 50 percent today. "Damn, girl, that was not imagery that I needed in my mind," he admonished with a wince.

She stuck out her tongue at him. "You know what I meant." She took a minute to compose herself. "Darien, I need to know what happened that night if I'm going to help."

"I didn't do this. I swear it, 'Chele, I couldn't..." She silenced him with a gentle finger over his lips.

"I know, Darien." There was no doubt in her voice or in her eyes. "And neither does Harry; he wouldn't have taken the case otherwise, my asking him or not."

Darien nodded in agreement. Grabowski had been up-front about being lied to and Darien had made a point of telling him the truth from the start... just not _all_ of it. "It was the time of death that got me. Casey could only say I'd been with her from 2AM on and the old coot died somewhere between 1 and 3. The prosecutor made sure to point that out during cross." Darien dropped his head to stare at the floor, not currently able to meet Michele's eyes. "'Sides when it came out I'd been lying to her all along about being a thief and stuff... well..." Darien shrugged.

'Chele shook her head and backed away to take up pacing the room, almost as if she knew that's what he wanted to be doing. "Never mind the fact you were across town from the scene at the time."

Darien felt his heart skip a beat at her words. "How could you know that?" he asked at a harsh whisper while he glanced nervously at the silvered glass as she passed before it.

"What's the date, D?" 'Chele paused to look at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Uh, August 1st? Why would...oh." Darien had forgotten that the 60 days had gone flying past while he'd been caught up in his arrest and trial. 

"Darien, why didn't you tell Harry about it? It pretty much proves you were nowhere near the place at the time of the murder?" 'Chele had stopped at the far side of the room to watch him.

"'Chele," Darien squawked, hooking a thumb at the mirror. "You trying to cause even more problems for me?"

Michele set her hands on her hips. "There is _no one_ listening." She raised one had to tap her temple and Darien caught her meaning instantly. "They can watch on the cameras to make sure your badass self don't hurt little ole me, but the sound is off. It's why this took so long to arrange." Her shoulders drooped for a moment. "I tried to get your bond reinstated, but Judge Beale refused. I'm going to be owing Iggy big time for this." 

Darien knew _Iggy_ was Judge Ignacious Hollister, father of Nicky Hollister an ADA and former ... boyfriend of 'Chele's. If she had gone to Hollister for help, then Darien was in shit so deep he might never see the light of day again. "Michele, you didn't need to do this."

She shrugged. "Hell, D, it was this or ... break you outta here by force. And I doubt..." She trailed off an amused smile crossing her features. "Okay, so I probably could bust you out," She pushed away from the wall and walked towards him. "but then we _would_ have to run away and join the circus."

Darien laughed softly, in need of the release it provided regardless of the pain that shot through his sides. "Don't tempt me, kitten, things are looking grim from here."

"Grimmer than you know, D. The press is all over this and have you strapped down to that gurney already. Rumor has it _when_ the jury comes back with the death penalty you'll be sent to San Quentin." She set a hand on in his and squeezed. "Why didn't you let Harry call me as a character witness? Hell, why didn't you tell him about the..."

Darien cut her off, trusting that she was telling the truth about the lack of listeners. "'Cause I won't cop to another... job, when it went off perfectly."

"Not even to get you a retrial?" 'Chele snapped right back. "_I'll_ tell Harry. I can..."

"No, Damn it. It's _mine_. You got me?" he yelled, not about to do time when that heist went down so damn sweet, so damn perfect. "What did you do with it?"

"Safe, I promise you." She hadn't even flinched from his shouting. "All right, I won't mention it... unless you tell me to." Still holding his hand, she shifted to lean back against the table next to him. "The DNA and prints are yours. I looked over the results myself. If you weren't there," He shot her a glare. "Then we need to figure out who was." She released his hand and slid back until she was sitting cross-legged on the table. "The witnesses from the building seemed to be convinced they'd seen you there just days before."

Darien sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. Crap, he was tired. "That's 'cause they did." 

"Sit, before you fall, please?" she pleaded softly. "We have time. I want to hear everything."

"Why, 'Chele? What can you do that Harry and his investigators couldn't?" Darien questioned as he pulled out the chair and sank into it with a grunt of pain. 

"I don't know... yet. I'm far better at tracking down genetic anomalies than forensic data, but I'll think of something." She rubbed her forehead, a sure sign she was working on a headache. "Were you running one of your cons?" He nodded. "Lemme guess, the security one. Older folks, expensive high-end retirement community, fits your profile."

Darien actually felt sheepish. "Damn glad you ain't a cop. I'd've been up on my third ages ago." The fact was he'd tried to make sure to mix up his cons over the years, but the security one was almost always dead easy and very lucrative for him.

'Chele chuckled. "Not a chance, it's taken me a lifetime to know you this well, your average cop wouldn't have a clue." She tapped a finger on the tabletop as she thought. "So, you were in the building and the guy's apartment?"

Darien nodded. "And a dozen others as well. I'd targeted three as potentials. His was top of the list."

"But you decided against it." It was a statement.

"Yeah, something better came up," Darien agreed, knowing she'd figure out what the bigger prize was.

She snorted. "Better? That's an understatement. Okay, then who did you tell about the place?"

He stared at her for a long moment before answering. "Why would you think I told anyone?"

"Its logical. You cased the place and then decided it wasn't worth your trouble. Whoever did pull the job not only knew your style, but had access to your DNA. For all that to have occurred you would have had to either told them or they'd been spying on you for some reason," Michele explained, her expression dead serious. When Darien didn't speak for several minutes 'Chele did. "Do you want my help?"

"Yeah," he responded, though still unsure exactly how she could do anything more than what his lawyer and his people already had.

"Then you need to tell _me_ the truth. All of it. Once you've been sentenced it'll be a hell of a lot harder to get anyone to believe that you didn't do this." Her tone wasn't harsh, but Darien still felt like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut.

"Why are you doing this?" The frustration was evident in his tone. She'd been helping from the moment she'd found out he'd been arrested. Bailed him out, posted his bond after the arraignment, found him a _real_ lawyer instead of an overworked public defender, hell, she'd even arranged for the sale of most of his possessions so he could help pay for his defense. All without a single question or hinted at doubt. 

"Shouldn't I?" She shook her head, the curls that had inevitably pulled free waving about her face. "If roles were reversed, would you help me?"

"Of course," Darien replied without hesitation. "But..."

"But nothing," 'Chele interrupted. "Stop expecting me to hightail it off into the sunset. I have no plans to walk away and leave you. Ever. Maybe one day you'll finally realize this."

Her irritation at his continued disbelief that she _wanted_ to be his friend was obvious even as it was counterpointed by the knowledge that it was simply how he viewed the world and his relationships. To his way of thinking it was inevitable that those he cared about would leave him in one way or another. "My head knows, but my heart..." He knew she'd recognize those words and her hiss of indrawn breath confirmed it. "I told three people," he stated softly. "We were just hanging out drinking and jobs or the lack thereof came up. I'd glommed onto... that other one so I figured why not offer up the easy target for one of them, with maybe a cut for myself for turning them onto it. Quick cash for me with little actual work."

Michele's eyes narrowed as she listened. "That's not too common is it? Handing out potentials like that?"

"Not really uncommon either. I've picked up a few jobs that others'd cased, but knew their skills didn't suit it. They get their cut and everyone goes away happy." Darien shifted back into the seat a bit, relaxing as he warmed to the topic. 

"Names, D. I need to know who."

He knew that look, that tone of voice, 'Chele was completely focused now, and much like a dog with a bone, there would be little chance of getting her to knock her off track. "Ummm, Suni, Manny, and Looks... uhh, Kenny."

"Okay, so which of these do you think could have done this to you?" Michele asked. "Is Suni the one I remember, the tiny Asian? Limber as a pro contortionist?"

Darien nodded, he'd shared a romp or two with Suni when they'd paired up on a couple of heists, which meant she not only knew Darien's style, but also had access to his DNA. "Yeah, that's Suni. You have a hell of a memory, ya know that?"

'Chele grinned. "So I've been told."

"I doubt its Suni. She's known for getting into places via electrical conduits, air vents and the like. I swear that girl can squeeze into places underfed cats can't," Darien explained, then got up to begin pacing about the room. The movement seemed to stir up more knowledge about the small woman. "'Sides, she's scared of heights."

"Acrophobic?" 'Chele mused aloud. "Yeah, that would most definitely keep her from climbing 15 stories up to..." She trailed off, apparently not needing to recount what had been done to the owner of the place. "The fact that Suni is female kinda eliminates her as well."

"Not as an accomplice," Darien commented, and 'Chele nodded in agreement. "Looks... this ain't his style across the board. He's a professional pickpocket. Occasionally hires out to lift specific items, but generally works on his own. Likes to sneak into highbrow parties and let his fingers get sticky with jewelry, watches, wallets and the like. Makes a pretty good living that way."

"Looks?" 'Chele's brows knit together at the odd appellation for the man.

Darien paused his steps to give her a bit of a smile. "He's gotta be the most average guy I have ever met. He's skated his way out of more arrests simply because witnesses couldn't remember what he looked like or gave totally conflicting descriptions. 'Looks' is short for 'no one ever looks twice'."

"So he's not likely to have even played second string on this one?" she asked and Darien shook his head no. "That's leaves this Manny. Male I assume?"

"Yeah, we met at the gym, started spotting each other on the free weights. Found out we had a few things in common." Darien had started pacing again, thinking seriously about his _friend_ Manny. "He's a techie -- likes his toys for pulling off jobs instead of using real tools." 'Chele raised a single eyebrow at that comment. "All right, so I have a few _toys_ as well, but they're just an addition to my skills I don't rely on just them, understand?"

"Perfectly." She stretched, her back arching for several long seconds before she relaxed. "Could he have done this?"

Darien stopped and leaned back against the mirrored wall. "I don't know... Maybe. I... I consider him a friend, but..."

"Honor among thieves?" 'Chele suggested with sarcasm heavy upon the words.

"Only when convenient, Liz taught me that," he answered ruefully. "Manny knows my style, had access and, of those _I_ told, is the most likely to have set me up to cover his own ass." Darien violently pushed himself away from the window. "Damn it."

Michele pushed herself off the table and went to him. "Don't start second guessing the past, it's over with. We need to save your future."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Just wish it wasn't looking quite so bleak." Darien muttered, the dark clouds taking their place over his head once again, and without a silver lining to be seen anywhere. "So now what?"

"Now, you keep it together while I do what I can to get proof that Manny was involved and not you." She set a hand on his arm. "I'll warn you now, you might not like the solution I find or what I have to do to fix this."

"'Chele, I'm looking at a lethal injection right now. Can it get worse?" Darien asked, his tone plaintive. "I just don't want you to get in trouble. You are far too important..."

'Chele cut him off. "You let me worry about myself, okay." When Darien frowned she added, "Besides, who would believe _me_ hanging out with a bunch of thugs and lowlifes, right?"

That earned a smile, though it was more than slightly forced on his part. "'Chele..."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, D. I'm not gonna tell you my plans. Plausible deniability on your part is necessary. Trust me?"

"Hell, yes. Just be careful, okay?" It was a simple request and she nodded.

"Do you want me to pass a message onto Casey... or anyone? Celia maybe?" she offered.

"Damn, Celia. I can just imagine what she's thinking right about now." Darien pondered for a moment. "Tell her... tell her I'm okay and I'll call her as soon as I can. Casey... she isn't exactly speaking to me at the moment. She showed for the trial and all, but she's understandably pissed about the whole lying thing." Darien sighed deeply, wondering how he could possibly fix the relationship. Convince her he hadn't lied, not really, just told a heavily edited truth... Shit, he was even lying to himself about it now. "Casey and me gotta work things out... if we can."

"All right," 'Chele conceded.

"What? No 'I told you so'?" Darien cringed when he realized that he'd actually spoken aloud.

"Do you want one? Would it make you feel better? 'Cause I certainly won't." 'Chele's tone was oddly sympathetic instead of accusatory. "If she can't get past learning the truth, then it's her loss."

Darien just stared at 'Chele in confusion. He knew he deserved a well-placed 'I told you so' on the matter and yet she seemed to have no interest in handing it out. Even though she'd been the one who'd warned him to be up-front with Casey about who he really was and what he did for a living. It had been the only time Michele had ever mentioned it, in fact.

Taking one of her hands into his he shook his head, "'Chele..." He froze for an instant as she shocked him unexpectedly, her entire body going stiff in reaction. He'd heard about this, had it described to him by her, but had never seen it for himself. "You okay?"

"Don't let them see who you really are." she stated in a strangely flat tone that was so very unlike her usual smooth contralto. "They will never believe who you _are_ so be what they expect. Trust will take time." She slumped then, nearly collapsing before she caught herself and straightened. "Shit, I _hate_ that."

"Kitten? What the hell was that?" Darien asked in a hushed voice.

Michele snorted even as she gave his hand a squeeze. "I wish I knew. Did what I said make any sense?"

Darien thought about it. "Not really. Care to explain?"

"No, or rather I can't. Welcome to my world of weirdness. Luckily the only others who have been visited by my Cassandra trick are two of my brothers. It'd totally freak anyone else, but they already _know_ I'm strange." 'Chele stepped back and looked up at him. "Just remember what I said, it might have value eventually." She scrubbed her face in her hands as if to clear her mind from cobwebs that had invaded it. "On second thought, just ignore whatever I said. Probably just my version of speaking in tongues again."

"'Chele, you need help." He could tell by the sudden dullness of her eyes that she had another of her headaches.

"I know, and I... I'll talk to Mikey about it soon. I have more important things to do first." Her stance just dared him to challenge her. 

"Bullshit. I know for a fact I ain't going nowhere in the near future." Darien approached her and followed along when she tried to avoid him, he eventually backed her into a corner. "'Chele, you won't be able to help me if you're down for the count with a headache or out cold from the meds or... or worse." His hand came up to cup her cheek and caught her momentary urge to turn away and not allow him to touch her again. This time there was no surprise shock at the contact, just warm soft flesh against his callused palm. "Take care of yourself, a'ight?"

'Chele laughed softly. "Yes, you horrid man. I promise to take care of myself... and to get you out of this mess somehow."

The last was said without laughter, without the slightest trace of humor in her voice and he found himself once again fighting back tears in response to just how damn much she _cared_ about him. "Don't make promises you won't be able to keep, kitten. It makes you cranky."

"I have every intention of keeping this one, Dare. The method may just seem more than a little mad." She leaned forward to rest her head against his chest, one shaky breath drawn in and released, and he closed his eyes and set his chin atop her head.

"It'll work out, right?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," she assured him then straightened. "I just need a bit more information from you and I can get started."

Darien looked down at her, at the sureness and confidence in her posture. "What else do you need?"

"For starters, where does this _Manny_ hang out?"


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Though not necessary, you may want to read Freeze Frame August 2000 prior to this. -- AXZ

__

***

__

Death by lethal injection... .sadly not being an option, it is the decision of this court that you, Darien Fawkes, be remanded to the maximum security penitentiary at Bakersfield. There to serve the remainder of your life without hope of parole.

Judge Beale's words echoed through his mind for the hundredth, thousandth time since they'd been spoken in open court just the day before. Darien was still in shock; he'd been hoping for a miracle in the form of one petite redhead and was still upset it hadn't happened... yet. Though the fact that he hadn't scored that trip to San Quentin was a plus he'd been damn surprised about. Harry was already working on the appeal with new evidence he apparently unearthed, but Darien knew the wheels of justice turned slowly once the ink on the on the transfer papers was dry.

Not willing to become the playmate of some hulking brute with the brilliant appellation of Butch, or something equally impressive, that Darien would most likely end up on his knees before on a regular and unwilling basis, he'd decided to take his chances and make a break for it. With the aid of a pen swiped from the courthouse he'd had a go at picking the lock on the courthouse cell he'd been invited to spend the night in until they could transport him to his new accommodations at Bakersfield in the morning. His attempt had been interrupted by a nemesis that had haunted him his entire life -- a spider that had dropped down to skitter across the back of his hand. He'd shouted and dropped the improvised lockpicks and was caught just seconds later by the guard responding to his cry. 

Which is why his current residence had no bars, no windows, and little light. Normally he would have appreciated the quiet, but right now it simply meant he was alone with his thoughts and fears. Given no human had been able to help, he actually began, in a vague and disjointed way, praying for a miracle. Any miracle that would get him out of this mess and the chance to set things straight. Mere seconds later a blinding light struck him in the eyes as the door to his cell swung open. He raised an arm, squinting at the painfully bright light that was then eclipsed by.... Kevin.

Wonderful, his shitty day had just gone to hell. Somehow Darien knew that god was laughing his ass off right at this moment. 'Chele was supposed to be the one trying to save his sorry ass not... not Kevin. Kevin, who didn't give a damn. Kevin, who shouldn't have even known he was in here, 'cause Darien certainly hadn't bothered to inform him and risk enduring yet another round of lectures on how he was wasting his life.

That made him pause. 'Chele had warned him the method might be a little mad, but would she have gone to Kevin? Knowing that he was still not speaking to his brother? Darien had to admit it was a possibility since she did not have the same view of Kevin that Darien did.

Darien's silence and dark glower at his brother had obviously dragged on far too long and Kevin broke it.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Darien put on his best punk attitude as Kev would never believe anything else from him and spun a quick tale. "Well, you know, we are still painting," Darien began pointing to the wall behind him that was covered with graffiti, most of which was sexual in nature, "and, god wait until you see the living room." Kevin rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling as if asking for help to endure this, but Darien ignored it and just kept going. "I think you are especially gonna love it. It's got this colonial trim, it kinda..." 

Kevin gave Darien_ that_ look, the one that proclaimed his patience was at an end and that all the bluff and bluster Darien so smoothly spoke would never be believed. "No, no, don't do that. Don't give me the glare. I'm handling it."

"...handling it," Kevin said at the exact same time, which caused Darien to suddenly want to shout 'Jinx, you owe me a beer' just to turn that knowing sneer into something, _anything_ else.

"I am," Darien insisted. Hopefully 'Chele was, anyway. "and my case is on appeal."

"...case is on appeal," Kevin stated with the timing of someone who had memorized the dialog a long time ago.

It was too much and Darien's temper flared, "Look, you want to get your own sentences?" he snapped.

Kevin responded in kind. "Then tell me one I haven't heard before." He paused, that look of annoyance momentarily leaving his features to be replaced with what almost appeared to be concern. "Why the hell didn't you call me?"

Darien snorted. "Yeah, and say what? Hey, bro what's happenin', man? Haven't talked to you in a couple of years. Can you come down and bust me out?"

"Beats hearing about it on America Online," Kevin complained with a touch of bitterness in his voice.

Darien perked up at that, "I'm on the web?" Okay, so he was suddenly famous, or infamous if you preferred, but he was still oddly proud he'd actually pulled off something, which only Kevin had managed until now.

"Darien," Kevin snapped in exasperation, clearly not happy with how Darien was reacting to the situation.

"Wait a minute," Darien interrupted before Kevin could start with the lecture. "I mean, c'mon, you've been hogging the press since we were 12. Don't I get a shot?"

"No," Kevin stated flatly.

Darien ground his teeth and resisted the sudden urge to chant 'Marsha, Marsha, Marsha' at Kevin. "Why? 'Cause I'm not good enough?" Darien groused, knowing that was the path Kevin usually walked down first when listing Darien's flaws.

In a strangely soft tone Kevin said, "You aren't guilty enough."

Darien sighed softly, wondering why it had to be _now_ that Kevin saw the truth. "Okay, Kev, if I didn't do the crime, do you think I can do the time?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not where they're sending you."

Darien tipped his head down to stare at the floor. He knew Kevin was right, knew he wouldn't last very long, at least not as himself. He would be forced into things he had swore to himself he'd never have to deal with again, be forced to... He pushed the thought away; not wanting to deal with it, not wanting to believe this was real.

"Look, I didn't come here to lie to you. I came here to help," Kevin explained in a quiet voice.

Darien lifted his head to look at his brother and was surprised at the actual concern that seemed to be buried in his eyes. "I think you're a little late, bro, they're shipping me out of here in a few minutes."

Kevin reached inside his sport coat and withdrew an envelope. He strode across the room and held it out to Darien who eyed it warily. 

"What is this? What is it?" Darien asked, wondering what magic trick Kevin was about to pull from up his sleeve.

"It's an option, if you'll trust me." Kevin urged the envelope at Darien. "Go on."

With obvious reluctance Darien did and opened it up. Inside he found a single sheet of paper, which he began to read; a sinking feeling developed in his guts that got worse with every word. It _appeared_ to be a release form, but for what was never specifically mentioned.

Kevin didn't seem to notice as he crouched down beside Darien, and just began speaking while he continued to stare in disbelief at the words on the paper in his hands. "Folks I work with looked into your case. They agreed you got the shaft. Now, these guys have some pull with the Justice Department. I got them to put in a request. Took a little greasing, but they agreed to make you an offer." Kevin leaned back against the wall, relaxing a bit at Darien's apparent willingness to listen. "There's a project we've been developing. It's Fed funded, kind of under the table. We finished animal testing a month ago and now we're ready for a volunteer."

"A volunteer. You mean like a guinea pig," Darien sneered, liking this less and less by the second.

"As in a possible pardon if you'll do it," Kevin countered quickly.

And there it was. The carrot. The bait to get him to cooperate. Just like always, only now Kevin wasn't looking for someone to do the heavy manual labor of his chores so that he could spend more time mixing chemicals in the basement in exchange for writing Darien's next term paper. Oh no, this was Kevin coming up with a creative solution to force Darien to walk the straight and narrow, to get him to heel and stay like a well-trained dog. Trouble was Darien wasn't sure he could say no. So he did the next best thing and turned it into a joke. "Well, is this... is this some kind of Viagra thing?"

Kevin was suddenly his old self, tight-lipped and secretive. "Look, I can't get into it here. Suffice it to say it will involve some surgery..."

Darien laughed aloud, but that sickening feeling in his stomach trebled, "It sounds like you said 'surgery'."

Kevin hurriedly spoke, "It's nothing I can't reverse. Believe me it's a small price to pay for getting out."

Darien growled, "Look, Kev, I'm your brother, not a lab rat." He could not believe the utter arrogance of the man.

Kevin sighed heavily, "Darien, we don't have time for the pride thing."

Darien's temper boiled over at that one. How many times had Kevin pulled the excuse of 'pride' out to wave in Darien's face over the years? Too many by far, and the sad thing was, while pride was involved, it was _never_ for the reasons Kevin often accused. "Pride thing. Nice." Darien slapped both envelope and letter to Kevin's chest and stood up, then began to pace the small room. He could feel the anger coursing through him, making him want to smash his fist into the wall, or better yet, Kevin's face. "Okay, this is _my_ body we're talking about, and now you wanna play doctor with it."

In a harsh voice Kevin said, "Would you rather your pen pals play something else?"

Darien stopped dead at the opposite side of the cell to glare at his brother. He'd never told Kevin what had happened when he'd been in prison, but it was plain Kevin knew _exactly_ what had gone on. The awful thing was, Darien damn well knew it would happen again, the reminder he'd received a week ago confirmed that. Only once at Bakersfield he knew it would be far more then just a few bruises that would be adorning his body. Oh no, the wounds, the damage would be far, _far_ deeper.

Kevin must have seen the realization settle upon Darien's features. "Look, I'm not saying it's not a risk, but it's better than throwing your life away." His voice dropped and became pleading, "If you're going to trust someone, trust me."

"Why's that?" Darien sneered, "'Cause you're my brother?"

"Because you don't have much choice," Kevin told him, and held out the envelope again.

Darien's hopes sank at that moment because he knew Kevin was right. Damn it, where was Michele?


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: This takes place between the VS episodes Adam in Wonderland and Mirror, Mirror. There is a roughly six-week separation between the two with the events of this story taking place two weeks prior to Mirror, Mirror.

***

February 2003

Music: _Your Mistake_ by Sister Hazel & _In This Life _by Chantal Kreviazuk

_"Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."_

_I wouldn't have bought this line, written by Nietzsche or not, except for the fact that I had my palm read a few years back ... and damn it if the prediction didn't come true. Strange thing is, the _gypsy_ who told my fortune doesn't believe in fate, least not one helped by outside forces. We make our own fate._

_Destiny, however... After everything I'd been through, I was beginning to wonder._

"So the kid's settling in okay?"

Darien mentally shook his head. Hobbes could just be so obtuse at times. "You stood there and read the e-mail the same time I did. What, you think there was some secret message that I need my super-spy decoder ring for?" 

"Nah, I just wanted to make sure _you_ thought he was doing all right." Hobbes explained as they continued their slow stroll to the Official's office for today's surprise meeting that they'd been informed of while reading the first, of hopefully, many secure e-mails from Adam... Alex. A reply would have to wait until after they found out what the 'Fish wanted them to risk life and limb on this time.

For a change Darien was in a good mood; Adam's.... Alex's -- damn it -- letter was the capper after a night of successful work. He might be going short of sleep these days, but, so far, it was worth it. He'd successfully gotten in and stolen all the files needed to get one nasty piece of work named Richard Sanchez put behind bars for the rest of his natural life. Darien had the papers, along with those from two other bastards safely stored away until he was certain the coast was clear. Besides, he had already begun work on his next one and wanted to complete it before passing on the information to someone who could make very good use of it... all anonymously, of course. As far as he was concerned the day couldn't get much better. Which, after the last few months, was much needed. Things were finally starting get back to normal... well as normal as they ever really were around here these days.

Darien shrugged. "Can't really tell from words on a computer screen, now can I? Here's hoping Eberts can rig that video system so me and ... him can talk face to face." He stopped outside the door to the office and turned to his partner. "I _need_ to know A... he's happy, ya know?"

"Fawkes, and you can trust that Charlie and Deb will take good care of him," Hobbes assured Darien.

Darien turned the knob, swung the door open and entered the office while still focused on Bobby. "I know, it ain't about that, its..." Darien lifted his head to see someone sitting in the chair before the Official's desk, someone with vibrant red hair. Very familiar looking red hair. He stopped dead, blocking the doorway and caused Hobbes to walk into Darien's back, whatever he had been planning to say had been completely wiped from his mind by the sight before him. 

"Fawkes," Hobbes groused, "Cut the doorstop imitation would ya?" Then he forced his way past the unmoving Darien.

Darien barely even noticed since the person had turned about and revealed a sight he'd never expected to see here in this office. He took a moment to close his eyes, convinced he _had_ to be seeing things, but when he opened them the sight remained the same.

Hobbes, ever one known for his observational skills, suddenly asked, "You got a problem, Fawkes? 'Cause you look like you just saw a ghost or something."

Darien forced himself to speak past the stunned feeling that had left him momentarily immobile and speechless. "Truth?"

"Hey, Dare," 'Chele said as she got to her feet and walked over to him. She set a hand on his forearm as if to assure him she was indeed real and not some strange figment of his imagination. He almost wished she hadn't, as it triggered the memory of a very disturbing dream he'd been having on and off for the past week. 

He was back at the lake, that first summer he and 'Chele had become more than friends, and reliving that first kiss they'd shared, the one where'd they'd sunk beneath the water until the need for air had forced them to break apart and surface. Back then 'Chele had come up behind him and swum closer, but in the dream she hadn't and his teenaged body suddenly became that of his adult self. An adult who became increasingly desperate to find Michele, calling her name out to echo back at him off the cold stone walls of the lake. After diving under several times to search for her in the depths of the dark water, he noticed an odd stain spreading across the surface, when it reached him he realized it was blood. That was always when he woke up gasping for air and a terrible fear lying heavy upon his heart.

A shiver ran through him even as he raised a hand to set against her cheek. "'Chele? What on earth are you doing here?" He knew the astonishment he was feeling could be heard in his voice, and the sharp look Hobbes shot him didn't help matters any. Darien knew that look, but he didn't want to deal with it right now.

"'Fraid I'm in some trouble, D," 'Chele explained, watching him carefully.

Darien met her eyes, noting that not only was she completely exhausted, but that they had changed color yet again, the gray now having been bleached out to a brilliant silver color. At least he assumed they'd be brilliant; currently they were dulled with pain. "'Chele..." He wished he could manage to say more than her name, but he seemed to be unable to get beyond the shock of her being here.

The Official cleared his throat and the attention of all three turned to focus on him. "If you would take a seat, we can get moving on this."

Hobbes looked from Darien to Michele a blank gaze that boded ill upon his features before turning away. "What's up, Chief?"

Darien gave 'Chele a half-hearted smile and then urged her back towards the desk. Once she had settled into what was typically his spot, he grabbed a chair from the conference table and set it between her and Hobbes. "Shoot," he said as soon as he was seated.

"Dr. MacTierney, is there anything I can get for you?" Eberts spoke softly, as if aware her hearing could become overly sensitive when she was tired or in pain.

"Later, Eberts," the Official stated. "We need to get moving on this, _now_."

"On what?" Darien asked, unable to _not_ notice the pile of disks and files sitting on his boss' desktop. "What does 'Chele have to do with all of this?" The undertone of anger was plain to anyone who knew him well, and there were at least two people in the room who knew him _very_ well indeed.

Michele reached out and set a hand on his arm. "I came to Charlie for help, Darien." When he turned to look at her in disbelief, after all he'd told her, warned her about the Official over and over again, she said the one thing that would make him believe. "Jess is back and this time he _did_ show up with a gang of thugs to drag me away."

"Shit," Darien cursed softly. "You all right?"

"Jess? Wassa Jess?" Hobbes asked. "And why's he after the kid here?"

'Chele chuckled softly, plainly amused at being referred to as 'kid.'

"Jess, is a nasty piece a'work that has been bird-dogging 'Chele here for over 10 years," Darien snarled. "The son of a bitch."

Eberts flipped open a file and began to read. "Jessup Stevens, an alias, his real name remains stubbornly hidden. Wanted on several counts of criminal trespass and violation of a restraining order. As well as one count of rape."

_That_ got Hobbes attention as it was obvious who the victim had to be; but neither Darien nor Michele even flinched, this was old, old news to them. "What has this got to do with us? The Agency? Her ex comes back and she runs to you," He waved at the Official. "for help? Don't make much sense to me."

"Hobbes, you have no idea..." Darien began, not quite sure how explain the complicated situation that was Jess to his currently ruffle-feathered partner.

'Chele leaned forward to look around Darien and face Hobbes directly. "Jess is more than just my 'ex' -- using that term _very_ loosely. I have reason to believe he killed my parents and did so on the orders of his employers."

That information was news to Darien, but, in truth, he wasn't all that surprised to learn it was a possibility. As far as he was concerned there was _nothing_ Jess wasn't capable of.

Hobbes failed to keep the sneer off his face or out of his voice, "Right, conspiracies surrounding a chiquita like you. So who do you think he works for, some black ops government agency?"

Hobbes might have been in full sarcastic mode, but Darien caught the look of consternation on the Official's face, which looked amazingly odd next to the way Eberts' eyes were trying to bug out. "Damn, Hobbes, what bug crawled up your ass today?"

"What?" Hobbes asked in perfect innocence.

"Agent Hobbes, near as I have been able to discover, Jess works for a group that at one time was known as Mirage, beyond that... Much like their namesake, they've been very difficult to track down." 'Chele stood up, one hand lifting to rub her forehead as she began to slowly pace in front of the Official's desk. "One thing I do know, is the dozen men -- all in black suits and dark glasses, mind you, with Jess apparently in charge -- did not show up at my office to introduce themselves and ask me out on a date. They came with the sole purpose of getting _me_ when they discovered all the data they wanted had been wiped." She made her way over to the window with the unexciting view and stared out it for a long tense moment. "I did the only thing I could, I va... hid and got the hell out of Dodge."

Darien was sorely tempted to go to her, but something in her stance made him stay in place. "Why, 'Chele?"

"That's need to know," the Official interjected. "Suffice it to say, her reasons were more than enough for me to agree to intercede until she can be moved to safety." He glanced over at Michele who had turned about as he spoke. "The initial calls have been made and transport will be arranged as swiftly as possible." His tone softened a bit. "It may take a day or two, I'm afraid."

Darien looked over at Hobbes, who with eerie timing had turned as well. There was definitely something else going on here that neither of them understood. "We're gonna protect her." It was a statement of the obvious, but still needed to be said.

"Yes, Robert," Eberts answered. "We should have a secure location within a few hours. You and a team of agents will have guard detail. Only the two of you will be with Dr. MacTierney 24/7, the rest with maintain the usual eight hour shifts with a minimum of six agents nearby at all times."

Darien goggled, wondering what was so vital, so important about Michele that she justified what must be an enormous expense for the Agency's perennially strained budget. _He_ knew 'Chele was special beyond just being genius, but he was damn sure he was one of only a few, including her brothers, who knew exactly _how_ special. He certainly could not conceive of her telling the 'Fish as it would do the one thing she was terrified of, would put her at risk of becoming a pawn of the government, much as he still was.

Hobbes stood up, "So what now? We sit around here playing baby-sitter?"

"Now, you escort her to the Keeper, who has already been informed of the need for her assistance with a small matter," Eberts stated.

"For? The Keep is well.... The Keep." Hobbes made this weird head motion and Darien got that he was trying to be subtle about the importance of Lab 101 and the whole Quicksilver thing.

It was 'Chele who answered. "I haven't had access to my lab for... a while and I need medication." She must have caught something in Bobby's stance since she quickly added, "And, no, this is not something I can pick up at the corner pharmacy." She moved to the desk and sorted through the disks there until she found the one she wanted. 

"We'll be sending a team to your house in Escondido to salvage what we can," Eberts informed her.

'Chele snorted. "Good luck. I doubt they left much behind." She sucked a breath in between clenched teeth, one hand going to her forehead. 

Darien quickly stood and went to her, but she shifted away before he could set his hands on her shoulders and steady her. Her wincing glance in his direction told him it wasn't done to hurt him, but that she'd suddenly become overtly sensitive, something she'd warned him about in their various communications in the last six months or so. "Easy, 'Chele, it'll pass in a few."

She nodded and focused back on the Official. "I wiped my home system and trust me when I say they won't be able to recover anything of value."

The Official startled Darien by actually chuckling. "That I believe."

"Chief, I still don't get why we're doing this." Hobbes was being like a dog with a bone, gnawing on it and growling any time someone came near. Usually he just went with the flow and dealt with the old need to know routine.

"I'll tell you what I can," 'Chele said as she half-turned to face Hobbes. "That is, if Charlie says it's all right..."

Her deference to the Official was just the right touch and Darien knew she knew it. He'd taught her well over the years and she could run a con with the best of them, but typically used those skills to persuade investors into more funding for Hollow Brook and not trying to get wealthy marks to part with their valuables. Her next words, however, completely blew him away.

"Charlie, I want to thank you."

The Official shook his head, not even a hint of that supercilious smile that often graced his features in evidence. "Don't. We haven't succeeded yet."

"Not about this," 'Chele stated, and Darien was surprised to see a momentary look of confusion cross the Official's features. "I know about what you've done for me over the years and why. For _that_ I thank you."

In a tone that could be nothing other than never-before-heard sincerity the Official replied, "You're welcome. Now, I suggest to make your way downstairs. Fill them in as you see fit, but..."

"Understood. I am fully aware, which secrets to keep... for now." 'Chele hedged her bets, just like she should when dealing with the 'Fish.

"Hobbes,"

"Yeah, to the Keep. Come on, Miss...."

"You can call me Mac, if you like," 'Chele offered as she fell into step with Bobby.

Darien could tell Hobbes was pissed about something, but he still put his job first and right now his job was Michele. Darien, on the other hand, was still trying to deal with everything that had been revealed in the last 15 minutes. "'Chele, I've told you about _him_," he hissed as soon as they were down the hall and out of earshot of the office. "Are you nuts to show up here?"

"Maybe," 'Chele agreed as she walked through the doorway at the end of the hall and stopped on the landing. "Darien, you remember I told you Pete trusted two people with ... with my private research?"

"Yeah, Doc Anthony and..." It didn't even take a second for Darien to figure it out. "Oh crap. The 'Fish _knows_ about you?" This wasn't crap, this was so far beyond crap that becoming immune to the counteragent paled in comparison.

"Yes, Darien, he knows. He's protected me over the years, believe it or not, and all at Peter's request. I didn't make the connection until today, as I had never met Charlie. When I needed to contact him I used secure drops and the like. I only had his name and had no idea he was your 'Official.' Pete set it all up before he died. " 'Chele gave him this ghost of a grin and shook her head. "I'm surprised _you_ didn't recognize him."

"Huh?" both Darien and Bobby said at the same time, which amused Darien to no end and caused 'Chele to hastily stifle a giggle. "Speak, Truth," Darien mock ordered.

She clicked her heels together and snapped off an overdone salute, "Sir, yes, sir. D, he was the," She paused, tipping her head, obviously digging for the exact quote in her mind. "'rather large gentleman in the dark suit and glasses' talking to Kev and Doc Anthony at Peter's funeral."

Darien felt a shock go through him and for a second thought that perhaps yet another minor quake had hit, but the look on Hobbes' face told him otherwise.

"Fawkes, you look like you just got hit upside the head with a brick." The concern in Hobbes' voice was palpable.

"That's 'cause he was, in a sense anyway. Dare, you _knew_ they were involved years ago. You said you found that picture of them at the house, remember?" 'Chele's voice was calm, but it was a fair bet that she had a damn good idea what was going through his mind.

"Yeah, you're right, but..." Darien shook his head deciding now was not the time to deal with this. "I just never made the connection," Darien admitted ruefully.

"Shall we?" Hobbes waved to the staircase and led the way downstairs to the subbasement the Keep was located on. "I gotta ask, what's with the nicknames?" Hobbes was trying to sound completely disinterested, but failed miserably to Darien's eyes. After all this time he could read Hobbes like a book, a long complicated book admittedly, but those were always the best kind.

"The Truth and Dare thing?" Darien asked and Hobbes nodded. "It goes back to the first time we met as kids, we played Truth or Dare in the hospital, her always picking truth and...."

"You dare. I got it." Hobbes stopped a few feet from the lab door and turned to face Darien with a slight frown on his features. "What I wanna know is why I've never even heard about her," He thrust a hand at Michele. "before today."

Darien answered straight faced, "Need to know, my friend." Then he set a hand on 'Chele's shoulder to escort her into the Keep. 

He swiped the mag card through the lock even as Hobbes grumbled, "Need to know, my ass." 

Darien glanced about not seeing Claire immediately, and motioned 'Chele towards the other half of the lab. "Keep, Eberts said you were expecting us."

"Yes, Darien, " Claire responded from her position crouched before one of the coolers near the floor. "Just put the disk by the computer and I'll get to it in a second."

"Not without the password you won't," 'Chele stated. "My encryption program hasn't been broken yet."

Claire stood and spun about in obvious irritation to freeze in place at the sight of the three people in her lab. Darien was about to introduce his Keeper to 'Chele when she beat him to the punch.

"Claire? Wow, long time no see," 'Chele stepped forward to give Claire a quick hug while the often stoic Keeper looked stunned.

Claire hugged back in a vague manner before she obviously made the connection from her past to the present and the woman standing in her lab. "Michele? Michele MacTierney?" 'Chele nodded. "Bloody hell, it's been forever."

Darien's mind finally caught up with what he was seeing. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"Sure," 'Chele responded. "Claire dated Kevin our final year at Cal-Tech. She'd transferred in from MIT after a quick stint at Oxford."

Darien felt the twisting of that particular knife in his back at those words, the original wound still raw and bleeding. This revelation simply caused the flow to double. "Shit, did everyone know _but_ me?"

'Chele stepped away from Claire and was at his side in an instant. "D, I'm certain I told you about her even if Kevin never did." Her eyes slipped shut for a few seconds. "Hmm, odd, I don't think I ever mentioned her by name. Just 'the blonde Brit who can't hold her liquor'." Her eyes snapped open. "Oh, so that's what all the Kevin stuff was about a few months back." She shook her head gently. "I didn't realize..."

"No way you could have, kitten." He met her eyes, which were suddenly filled with concern behind the pain and exhaustion. "The Keep is good at keeping secrets, it's part of her job after all."

Claire pursed her lips and glared at him coolly, not tempted to rise to the bait today. Just as well since they had far more important things to deal with. 

"I'm thinking the Keep ain't the only one who has been keeping secrets," Hobbes grumbled from where he stood by the tank of piranha.

Darien felt a sudden guilt wash over him, but he quickly shook it off. As far as he was concerned, protecting 'Chele had been worth the deception. "Hobbes..."

"Agent Hobbes, I realize this must be a bit disconcerting for you, but Darien felt it was necessary and at the time I agreed with him." 'Chele moved over towards the exam chair and leaned back against it. She looked extremely tired, like she hadn't slept in days and Darien wanted to tell her to sit and relax for a while, that he and Hobbes wouldn't let anything happen to her. Then he turned to look at Hobbes who was glowering at Michele and knew that 'rest' was not something she was going to get in the near future. He wasn't even certain Hobbes would work too hard at keeping her safe right now.

"I still feel more than a little responsible for Darien having come to the Agency at all. All his plans..." 'Chele shook her head as if not sure what to say.

"'Chele, it wasn't your fault. You... you did what you could to get me out that mess, I'm sure. It was Kevin who took advantage of the situation," Darien tried to reassure her. They had never really discussed her failure to keep her promise of getting him out of prison. He was out, and though the price had been very, very high, it was, overall, better than what would have happened to him inside Bakersfield.

Michele looked at Darien in confusion. "Didn't Kevin tell you?"

Darien blinked. "Tell me what? He showed up just before I was gonna be transferred upstate with.... his offer." He hadn't told her much about what had happened, couldn't tell her without risking her freedom. Being top-secret sucked most of the time.

"Damn him," 'Chele growled.

"Fawkes, what are the two of you talking about?" Hobbes asked, apparently not liking the half-a-conversation he was hearing between Michele and Darien. 

'Chele seemed to ignore Hobbes' question. "What _did_ Kevin tell you?"

Darien scratched the back of his head while he thought how to tell her what had gone on without telling her _what_ had gone on. "Said he heard about my conviction on AOL and that he greased some wheels to get me out in exchange for helping him with his project."

'Chele closed her eyes for a second, hands coming up to rub her face, before meeting Darien's eyes. "_I_ told him about your problem. He went to my website to look over the proof I'd found. Shit, I made him copies of the info so he could prove to his boss you were innocent and get help _reversing_ the conviction." She slumped as if out of energy.

"Wait, you're saying you have proof Fawkes here didn't do ... what they said he did and you didn't take it to his lawyer?" Hobbes sounded confused and Claire moved to his side, her head swinging from Bobby to Darien, wanting to understand this new information as badly as Hobbes did.

"Of course I took it to Harry, however, because of the way I retrieved some of the information it was useless to him," 'Chele snapped, her temper making its presence known for the first time.

"And you thought Fawkes' geeky bro could do... what? Look at it under a microscope?" Hobbes snarked, clearly not liking this turn of events. Darien could see it written in every line of Hobbes' body that he was unhappy that everything he'd thought he'd known about Darien was suddenly being turned upside down and inside out.

"Hobbes..." Darien tried, but Michele ran over the top of him.

"No. I thought he could use those government contacts of his and get the data legitimized. In fact that's what I thought he did... at first." 'Chele looked over at Darien, not a trace of a smile on her face. "Harry had no idea how you'd gotten out; Kevin never contacted him. When I finally heard from Kev, he simply said you were free and that I should wait for you to get in touch with me." A look of sadness crossed her features. "Then I found out Kev was dead."

"What did you think Fawkes was doing?" Hobbes asked sharply, not a trace of sympathy anywhere in his tone.

'Chele shrugged. "I figured Kev got D some pasty position on his project to keep him out of trouble and out of sight 'til things cooled down. Maybe as a lab tech, or security."

"Security?" Claire asked softly in an apparent attempt to distract Hobbes, but Darien could see it wasn't going to work.

"Sure, why not? Who better than a thief to design security to keep out other thieves? I figured Darien stayed on at the Agency either 'cause it was part of the deal to keep him out of prison or because Kev asked him to." Michele managed a half-hearted smile for Darien. "He's never told me."

Claire seemed to sense the impending eruption that Darien could see on his partner's features and chose to intervene. "Michele, if you'll show me what it is you need, I'll get started on it."

'Chele nodded and followed Claire over to the workstation.

"Fawkes," Hobbes hissed. "If you've compromised this... project the Fat Man will have your ass in a sling."

"He hasn't, Agent Hobbes," 'Chele responded as she waited for the disk to load up, her back to him. "His comments about his job here have always been vague and non-specific. I didn't even know the location of this building until yesterday. I was simply someone outside of the situation for him to talk to. And, damn, did he need that."

Hobbes groaned. "Fawkes, you've been in contact with her all along?"

"Yeah, Hobbes, I have," Darien answered defensively. "What? All of a sudden I'm not allowed _anything_ for myself? You have your secrets, the 'Fish his, the Keeper hers. I don't get to have any?"

"What secrets could you possibly have?" Hobbes snapped. "You were heading to prison on a third strike, a two-bit thief with nowhere to go but up..."

"You are wrong," 'Chele stated in a calm voice, turning about to face Hobbes. "Darien was _not_ up on a third strike no matter what his record _seems_ to say. That was part of the plan to get the death penalty off the table."

Darien shook his head and chuckled softly. "I'd been wondering about that, but I figured the Fat Man had done it."

The corners of 'Chele's lips twitched upwards for a second. "Darien, you have no idea what I did to get you out of that mess. Good thing you'd taught me as well as you did: I needed to crack two safes to get the proof. And it still wasn't enough."

That threw Hobbes completely. "Wait... You're trying to tell me he..." He hooked a thumb in Darien's direction. "Taught you to crack safes?"

'Chele nodded. "Among other things. He's very talented."

"Right. Until he came here, Fawkes had no direction, no goals. He's cleaned up pretty good, but still has a long way to go." Hobbes told her in a dark voice, plainly daring her to try and challenge that statement.

Darien sucked in a breath, shocked at Hobbes' words. Was this what his partner, his _friend_ really thought of him? Could Hobbes really think that Darien was little more than the petty thief he'd appeared to be when he had first arrived here? Had Hobbes truly learned _nothing_ over the last two and a half years? Darien looked over at 'Chele to find her frowning slightly, confusion buried in the depths of her eyes.

"Agent Hobbes, it is you who are mistaken. Until he was framed for that murder he'd been a teacher. He has a Master's Degree in Literature with a minor in Philosophy. He used to be paid very well to tutor the children of the wealthy in this town." Her voice was cool, as if trying not to antagonize the man. "Yes, he was also a thief, but two-bit he never was." She narrowed her eyes. "Its amazing how much you sound like Kevin..." She trailed off, her head snapping around to focus on Darien. "So that advice was useful after all."

Darien nodded. "Yeah, it was." The hurt in his voice must have been obvious as even Claire's brows drew together in concern.

"Fawkes? You said you dropped outta college. 'Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,' you said," Hobbes quoted, accurately for a change. "You been lying to me all along? Why?" Hobbes, surprisingly, didn't sound angry, just... lost.

"Would you have believed the truth?" Darien asked, knowing that the preconceptions about _who_ he was still lingered even to this day. Hobbes' statements had proved that without a doubt. "Would you have believed for even one second that I was anything other than the 'two-bit' thief you obviously still think of me as?"

Hobbes muttered under his breath for a few minutes, quite obviously pissed off. "Maybe... maybe not at first, but now... hell, a year ago, yeah I woulda believed." He shook his head, obviously upset at the seeming distrust Darien held for his partner. "Thought you trusted me, Fawkes."

It was 'Chele who answered, "He does, more than you could ever realize. However, he has this bad habit of keeping up with the con long after it's needed. Easier to go with the flow than force the river to change its banks." The admonishment was gentle, but Darien knew it was also all too true.

Hobbes blinked. "Okay, that there proves you've known him for a while. Getting all philosophic at me. Like getting it from him ain't bad enough." His stance relaxed slightly, the angry tension partially draining away. The look Hobbes leveled at Darien told him this wasn't over by a long shot, but that Hobbes was willing to set it aside for now. The needs of the moment taking precedence over their personal problems, and for Hobbes these lies of Darien's were very personal. 

Claire, sensing it was safe for the nonce, cleared her throat softly. "Michele, which of these is the one you require my assistance with?"

"Sorry, D," 'Chele said softly before turning about to sit and take control of the mouse. Darien moved closer to watch over the two women's shoulders as Michele keyed in a password that turned the gibberish on the screen into understandable, if technical words. From what Darien could tell a good half of them were in Greek, which he only understood tangentially. He recognized a few of the file names simply from having seeing them over the course of many years, but the one she opened he didn't know.

Once open a familiar sight appeared on the monitor; to the right was a three-D model of whatever the heck it was and to the left scrolling words and chemical symbols that was formula for it. "From what I've seen you should have the majority of the ingredients here. It takes about 24 hours to make once begun. It's not overly difficult and can handle some fudging and substitution. Just need to follow the steps."

Michele vacated the chair so Claire could sit directly before the computer and get a better look at the screen. "This is very interesting, Michele. How long before you need this?"

"I should be okay for another couple of days, but I will need a shot by then." 'Chele answered truthfully and Darien set a hand on her shoulder.

"'Chele, you okay?" He kept his touch gentle, noting how prominent the bones under his hand were. At a guess she was running out of far more than just lack of medication and sleep.

"Tired, Darien." She sighed and set a hand atop his. "Very tired."

"What's with the shot?" Hobbes asked, but this time the defensiveness was gone and 'Chele turned slightly to face him.

"It... I can't go into details, but without it ... Lets just say it wouldn't be pretty." 'Chele glanced back up at Darien when he squeezed her shoulder gently. "I get ... severe migraines and this is the only way to control them."

"Fawkes," Hobbes' tone clearly indicated that he knew something more was going on and that Darien knew all about it.

"Not now, Hobbes, and not here." Darien tipped his head down and chuckled softly, the irony of the situation not lost on him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, trust me on that."

"I'm not sure_ I_believe this," Claire said in a hushed voice, making it a good bet she had ferreted out at least some of the purpose of the drug Michele needed just to get through an average day. "I can have this ready by tomorrow evening, I believe. I just have one or two items I need to procure."

"Thanks," 'Chele told in her in all sincerity, then turned back to Hobbes. "You ready to hear about why you're protecting me?"

"More'n ready, kid, but not here." Hobbes chewed his lip for a few seconds. "Come on, we'll send Eberts on a coffee run and talk in our office."

Darien was relieved at Hobbes' use of 'our' for the dingy hole in the wall cubby they shared. 'Chele's hand twitched about his and he got a good dose of her emotions. She was scared, upset, and tired... tired of running, of having to leave the things she cared about, of having others call the shots in her life. But most of all she felt she was intruding on the life Darien had made here, that she'd come in and, by not realizing that he'd spun a tale to make the situation a bit easier, ruined everything he had built. "'Sokay, kitten, he don't bite ... too hard." He tried to convey that he wasn't mad, and that Hobbes would get over it in time through the touch they still shared.

"Darn," 'Chele mock complained, "A judicious use of teeth can spice up anything."

Claire choked and tried to cover it with a cough, while Hobbes' eyes widened for a long moment before he shook his head to hide the grin that had appeared. "This way," He led the way to the Keep door.

"Thanks, bub," Michele whispered, her gratitude coming through loud and clear.

"Well?" Hobbes called from out in the hall.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Darien griped playfully as he and 'Chele trailed along. "Slave driver."

Hobbes snorted, "And don't you forget it, my friend."


	22. Chapter 22

* * *

It took over an hour, with many questions by Hobbes to fill in information he simply didn't have, but eventually she got the story out. About eight weeks prior, Dr. Pierre LaSalle, the boss over at Hollow Brook who had had been in the process of finding a suitable candidate to take his place when he stepped down in six months, was unceremoniously replaced by a Geoffrey Laurence. The guy had set off Michele's "spidey-sense" from day one and the daily departmental meetings with the man left her feeling, in her words, slimy. Given her position within the company, she had demanded to know where Dr. LaSalle was only to be told he was "on vacation" followed by a list of projects that Laurence wanted detailed updates on. The fact that the majority of them were hers in one form or another did not up her confidence in the new director.

Within a week she _knew_ something fishy was going on as she had tried to contact Pierre, only to be warned off by some of the new security that had been brought in with Laurence. It was then that she discovered someone had been attempting to gain access to her private files on the Hollow Brook mainframe... without success. Part of her deal from the beginning was to be able to use the company's high-powered computers during her down time for her private research. Research, she had made sure to point out, that was ancillary to the work she was doing for the company and would ultimately benefit them as well, as she improved the techniques. However, she actually stored nothing on the system, since she would bring in the necessary files and programs and use the mainframe to run the simulations, burn the results to disk and then wipe all the information from the main system. So, while she did indeed have personal files in the system, they were empty, nothing more than markers to differentiate them from the thousands on the computer.

Darien then had been forced to head off another potential argument between 'Chele and Hobbes, though, in truth, it was only Hobbes who was doing the arguing. 'Chele remained perfectly calm, handling the seasoned agent like some cantankerous scientist convinced that her latest theory or simulation couldn't be right simply because 'it had never been done that way'." She also knew that she was right about being able to wipe data and make it impossible to retrieve by any means, but since she was unable to really explain due to those pesky need to know issues, Hobbes was left unsatisfied. Darien had explained that Michele was not only a scientist, but a computer programmer that could easily give Eberts a run for his money, which was effective in negotiating a draw until she could get the rest of the story out.

Things just kept getting stranger for Michele: pressure from Laurence about her personal work, being dropped from some projects, constant attempts to interfere with her current lines of research and even threats to halt the long-term melanoma vaccine testing that was going on if she refused to comply. The most telling, to her, were the attempts to force her to work on government projects, which she could refuse as it was a condition in her contract dating back to after the CDC viral project she'd worked on in the mid-90s. No one knew what was going on and her co-workers were quickly discouraged when they inquired. It was the second attempt at someone trying to access her home computer, this time by breaking into her home and not just trying to hack their way in via the Internet that had confirmed her suspicions. 

They were after her project, all her work on her parents' theories and all the _success_ she'd had. They had to know that she'd solved the final trigger sequence problem and that it _worked_. She'd proceeded to wipe her home system after updating the files and burning them to disk. All her paper files she proceeded to destroy; piece by piece. Most weren't even the originals, and the few that were, she put in a fireproof lock box to move them. It took three days, but she wiped all traces of her experiments from her house, the files and disks hidden away for the time being. She somehow knew it wasn't time to run yet, but she began making plans.

Then two weeks ago, just after her lunch break, several men walked into the main lab area where she'd been running some simulations with five of her co-workers. 'Chele _knew_ something was wrong and had her worst fears confirmed when she recognized the man calling the shots as Jess. She'd warned the people nearest to her to get out of the way and then... she became very vague at this point... made her planned escape.

She'd been on the run ever since then, trying to make contact with a ...friend, she knew could help, but getting the runaround as the person in question was on a _business trip,_ and her little problem wasn't deemed important enough to pull him away from the work. She had been told her messages would be passed on, but that it might be a few weeks. She had managed to stay one step ahead of Jess and his cronies until she'd realized she was running out of medication. Then she was forced to take the risk of coming to San Diego and asking help from the one person who might actually be able to pull the right strings and get her in contact with her friend. The Official.

Hobbes had nearly pitched a fit when 'Chele explained she'd been driving about the lower half of the state for nearly two weeks, staying in random hotels or campgrounds. Until she explained she'd used cash only and had been in a vehicle few people knew she owned, in fact it was registered in her brother Jacob's name. She had been holding onto it for a while partially because of the convenient hidden compartment in the trunk. That had gotten Darien's attention and she confirmed that it had been her who had bought his 65 Dodge Dart back in 2000. Hobbes asked if Jess would know about her relationship with Darien and she admitted, yes, and that she knew it was risk coming here even after trying to muddy the trail first.

It was then, with the wheels in Hobbes' mind grinding on the problem of how to protect her from this supposed group called Mirage when Eberts showed up to let them know the temporary safe house was ready. He also supplied files on Jess, Mirage and Michele so Hobbes would have some idea of what he was really dealing with. Mostly, anyway.

The conversation had continued as the three of them headed down to the garage where her -- Darien's former -- car was currently parked so she could retrieve the trio of duffel bags she'd been living out of and her laptop. Darien spent a few minutes admiring the car parked alongside of Hobbes' van while 'Chele watched with a slight smile on her face. They then climbed into nondescript Agency vehicles to transport her to the safe house. Hobbes even left Golda behind on the off chance the Mirage goons would recognize it as his preferred vehicle. Darien sat in back with Timmens driving, and 'Chele ducked down below line of sight while Hobbes followed in a second vehicle with Grant in the passenger seat. They stayed in constant radio communication for the entire drive, which began to annoy Darien, who did his best to distract 'Chele from the whole thing. She kept giggling at Hobbes' comments and handles for the pair of cars until even Timmens was having a hard time keeping a straight face by the time they arrived.

This time the safe house was an apartment complex smack in the middle of downtown. The NBC building was a stones throw distance away, but between traffic and the intentionally roundabout route used to throw off possible followers it had taken nearly and hour to arrive. 'Chele sighed in relief when they pulled into the underground parking garage for the building, but it was another 15 minutes before it was deemed clear and she was allowed to leave the vehicle.

Ubiquitous cartons from a nearby Chinese place littered the small apartment that was their current location. One bedroom with a king-sized bed and a single bureau, both in surprisingly good condition and clearly purchased within recent memory. The living and dining areas were part of one large room that were demarcated by a change in the flooring, rug covering the wood in the living area. Supposedly the sofa could be transformed into a bed, but no one had actually investigated the veracity of that yet. The galley style kitchen had come barely furnished with settings for four and a couple pans; the cupboards and refrigerator, however, were bare, which caused Darien to spontaneously make a few "Old Mother Hubbard" comments in a wasted attempt to ease the tension.

"How've you two been hooking up without the Fat Man catching wind of it?" Hobbes questioned, the drilling having become polite and reminiscent of far more normal conversation than the obvious interrogation that both Darien and Michele knew it was.

'Chele settled back into the cushions with her prize of vegetarian lo mein clutched in one hand, the chopsticks stabbing in Hobbes' direction as she responded. "Darien and I haven't seen each other since before he joined the Agency. In fact the last time was before his sentencing." She turned to glance at Darien. "I even forgot to drop by with that copy of _Crime and Punishment_ for you to read."

Darien snorted in amusement. "Woman, you are cruel," he observed around a mouthful of General Tso's. He nearly died when he realized he'd bitten into one of those tiny firecrackers they called hot peppers and hurriedly reached for his bottle of water to gulp at it, 'Chele snickering quietly at his antics.

Hobbes simply shook his head and opened a second bottle for Darien when the first vanished. "I caught that, you know. You been keeping an eye on him, ain'tcha?"

Darien guzzled the second bottle, the inferno his tongue had become finally easing when he'd emptied half of it. "Crap," Darien muttered when he could breathe again. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had appeared in response to the pepper. 

"Bit spicy there, D?" 'Chele asked around a giggle.

"That's the way he likes it, and no getting out of answering." Hobbes wagged a finger at her in admonishment and Darien sighed softly, thankful they had seemed to find some middle ground for dealing with each other.

"Yeah, I've kept an eye on him. Wanted to make sure he was okay, is all," 'Chele admitted with a slight rise of color to her cheeks. "Wasn't hard, I know most of the places he likes to hang out, I just stayed in the background."

Darien somehow wasn't surprised that she'd been there for him all along, probably more than willing to step forward and chance exposing herself if she determined that his need outweighed any risk of being discovered by the Agency and the Official. In fact he was amazed that she'd stayed on the periphery of his life for this long. She had always made a point for being there when he needed help and had offered many times over the last couple of years to be there in person, citing he was more than worth the danger. Deep down Darien felt he was generally far more trouble than it could ever be worth, but knew, with a certainty that bordered on the fervor of a zealot, that she saw it differently and would gladly face the danger head on if he asked.

Hobbes nodded, satisfied for the moment with her answer. "So if you ain't been meeting in person, how've you been staying in contact? Passing notes in study hall?" His tone was becoming insistent and Darien knew he'd have to tell the truth or his partner would just keep at it.

"The old fashioned way, Hobbes, the US mail," Darien answered with a hint of a smirk.

"Fawkes, I knew you were nuts, but this just proves you're stupid too," Hobbes complained, plainly not thrilled.

"Mail drops, Agent Hobbes, false names and everything. We also exchanged e-mails fairly regularly," 'Chele explained as she poked at the food with the chopsticks for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table.

"E-mail? He don't own a computer." Hobbes scratched the top of his head absently, trying to understand what had been going on under his nose all these long months.

"The library does, my friend, and 'Chele has assured me her end is secure," Darien told him. He watched as a barely noticeable frown crossed Bobby's features and knew his partner was getting ticked off again.

'Chele either didn't care or figured in for a penny in for a pound, and get the whole thing out on the table. Plus, although most of the afternoon had been quiet and she'd been able to rest a bit, she was looking very tired again, so maybe she just wasn't thinking quite as clearly as she usually did. "Phone calls were even more rare; only 3 or 4 times a year." She must have caught the stiffening of Hobbes' posture for she quickly added, "Secure at both ends. D has access to my apartment and used the phone there."

Darien groaned to himself when he saw the gleam in Hobbes eyes. "So _that's_ where you take off to when you decide to sulk by yourself." He eyed Darien warily. "Cough it up, partner."

'Chele interceded before Darien could even begin to come up with something that would get Hobbes off this track. "No. That is one of the few places Darien can go to get away from this," She waved a hand about making sure the gesture included Timmens who sat at the dining room table with the radio, "And you are not going to take it away from him." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and Darien had to wonder if maybe she was reading Hobbes to get an idea of what he was thinking. "Don't bother trying to find the place either; I may be a science geek, but I know all about holding companies and dummy corporations. I like my privacy as much as the next person and made sure my name is in no way directly associated with the place."

Hobbes glared at her, preparing to argue the point, but she again didn't give him the chance.

"Darien has had use of the place for nearly a decade, I'm not about to change that." She stopped and took a deep breath to calm down. "Haven't you ever needed a place to go to? One where you knew you'd be safe and could just be... yourself for a while?"

"I get the point," Hobbes practically barked in response. "But it ain't safe for Fawkes here to be outta sight for long. He's... he's made a few enemies over the last couple of years and him having a hidey hole... It's just too dangerous."

Michele didn't react as Darien had expected, but took a moment to contemplate Hobbes' words. Darien had told her only the barest hints of what had happened the last two and a half years, but she still would understand that Hobbes was not exaggerating the potential threat even if she truly didn't understand the _why_.

"Agent Hobbes, unless I'm mistaken, much like a determined thief, if the bad guys want Darien they _are_ going to find him. Its not like where he currently lives is any great mystery, yet he's not been dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night by some masked assailants." 'Chele made sure to keep any hint of triumph off her face when it became obvious she had scored with that statement. "Besides, last I knew he carried a cell phone with him. I imagine he'd call if he needed you."

Darien was hard pressed not to chuckle. "She's got you there, Hobbes."

"Fawkes, you're not helping any," Hobbes grouched. "The boss would pitch a fit if he knew you were sneaking about and taking advantage of the kid's generosity and all." Hobbes shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees and I slight frown crossed Darien's features and for a moment he began to question the way he and 'Chele had been keeping in contact.

"And what makes you think the Official doesn't know?" 'Chele asked in a soft voice. The words were effective though, as both men snapped their heads about to look at her. She then heaved a sigh and stood up. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower."

"Sure, sweets, take your time," Darien said with a nod, wondering why she was suddenly backing out of the discussion. "You all right?" he asked before she'd made it more than a couple of steps towards the bedroom.

"Huh? Oh yeah. Just fine, Dare." She rubbed the side of her head and then walked into the bedroom, kicking the door most of the way shut with one foot.

Darien turned back to meet the hooded eyes of his partner. "What?"

"What's with all the cutsie nicknames?" Hobbes asked with a hint of a grin. "You two ever..." The grin swiftly over took his face. "You know," he pressed, not about to let go of this particular bone.

Darien shook his head, but failed to keep himself from smiling. "Not in years, man. And no making fun of the nicks there, little tiger," he countered and was pleased with the mock anger that Hobbes used to wag a finger. "Its just... part of us, that's all."

"'Us,' interesting choice of words there, my friend." Hobbes paused, plainly waiting for Darien to rise to the bait, but was disappointed, as he wasn't about to bite that hook today. "Not gonna give me anything, are ya?"

"Not a chance. She's got enough to worry about without you riding her ass even harder." Darien had to force himself to not laugh at the very intentional leer that crossed Hobbes' features. Maybe it was the eyebrows waggling up and down that kept Darien from wanting to get all protective of 'Chele. 

"She as smart as the file says?" Hobbes asked, smoothly changing the subject for the moment.

Darien shrugged. "Piece of paper only says so much, ya know?" Hobbes nodded in agreement. "You heard her earlier, she went to Cal-Tech with both Kev and the Keep. DOD has been pestering her for years to come work for them, but she's happy where she is. Hollow Brook treats her right and she feels she's making a real difference."

"And you're not?" Hobbes' question seemed to come from left field and Darien took his time before he answered.

"Not the same. You and me, the Agency, we deal in the now. Always two steps behind the bad guys and hoping like hell we catch up in time. 'Chele... she's making our future," Darien explained in a quiet voice. It wasn't that he felt what he did was unimportant or unrewarding, but it was a stopgap and nothing more to his way of thinking.

"Fawkes, without people like us, there won't be no future. Don't knock what we do, what _you've_ done, 'cause its just as important as some lab geek discovering the cure to cancer. And you _know_ it." Hobbes' impassioned reply made little impact until a soft voice added,

"He's right." 'Chele pushed away from the doorframe where she must have been listening in on their conversation, stumbled over to the sofa and plopped down next to Darien. With complete unconcern she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before reaching for her bottle of water and settling back onto the center cushion. "I may have my issues with working for the government, but don't you ever belittle what you've done here." She faced Hobbes directly. "Or the friends you've made. You're the happiest you've been in a long time, D, even with all the recent pain, and it will get better." Her prophetic announcement was swallowed up by a yawn towards the end. "Sorry, guys, been going short on sleep for a while now."

"So go crash," Hobbes suggested in what sounded like real concern to Darien's ears. "The bed looks half-way decent, for a change."

'Chele shook her head. "You're gonna think I'm being all girly or something, but I'd rather not be alone right now. I feel safer out here with you guys."

"Well, then come here, you." Darien set an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close, ignoring the dampness of her loosely braided hair. "Took some meds, didn't you?" The glassy look in her eyes was more than just exhaustion at this point.

'Chele leaned against him with a sigh and swallowed down some of the water. "Yeah, I risked going to my apartment to get the pills I had there. They'll help with the worst of the pain until the inhibitor is ready."

Hobbes' gaze wandered across her and Darien could tell he was looking for something. "How often do you need these meds?"

"Every three or four days, it varies, why?" Her eyes were still open, but her words were slurred, showing that she wouldn't last for much longer.

"Yeah, Hobbes, why?" Darien asked in curiosity.

"No track marks," Hobbes commented, waving at her bare arms revealed by the t-shirt she had changed into.

'Chele shifted and slid the leg of the loose fitting sweats up past her knee, revealing a series of bruises in varying shades from that deep purple of full bloom to that sickly yellow-green of the nearly healed on the inside of her thigh. "I do a lot of interviews for Hollow Brook and need to look my best." She slid the pant leg back into proper position. "I _can_ do the shots intramuscular." She patted her rear to show where that most often occurred. "It's simply more effective when injected directly into the vein. Any other questions?"

Darien plucked the water from her hands and encouraged her to actually lie down, his thigh acting as her pillow as it had many times over the years. She grumbled, but didn't argue, it was sleep she was fighting and not him. Hobbes simply sat there thinking, with Darien switching his focus between his two friends. 'Chele grasped his right hand and slid the watch up and off his wrist, slipping it onto her own before she began to trace the snake tattoo with her fingers.

"Hmm, still active. Precautionary?" she asked at a mumble. Darien caught the look of concern that crossed Hobbes' features and was about to reassure him that 'Chele knew only that it existed, but not what for when she spoke up, "No, I don't know what it's for, but it'll be needed again."

"Go to sleep, you," Darien ordered, not wanting to risk her giving away any more of her little talents that Hobbes wasn't supposed to know about.

"Yes, master," she quipped, her eyes drifting shut for a moment before they lifted slowly open again to answer a question that had never been spoken aloud. "I trust you because Dare does. I don't need to know anything else."

"'Chele," Darien warned, trying to ignore the sudden stillness of his partner who was now staring wide-eyed at Michele.

"Bossy thing, aint'cha," she groused, but her eyes slid shut and stayed that way, her grip on Darien's wrist loosening after a few minutes as her breathing became slow and regular.

"She's... she's..." Hobbes waved a hand at the now sleeping woman.

"Damned important to me," Darien interjected, one hand finding a stray curl to twirl about, just like always.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why," Hobbes said with what sounded like hushed awe in his voice.

The small form huddled on the bed moaned softly in her restless slumber and Darien frowned from where he was watching her. He leaned against the doorframe; hands stuffed deep into his pockets as she shifted uneasily in her sleep. Once she'd been unconscious for an hour lying with him on the sofa, blissfully unaware of the conversation that was going on about her and unhearing of the phone calls back and forth concerning her, Darien, with Hobbes' assistance, moved her to the bedroom. Her sleep had been anything but peaceful since then.

Hobbes stepped back into the apartment then, still in the process of snapping his cell phone shut. That had been the fourth... no fifth call of the night concerning 'Chele. The previous one had been from Eberts and included the message that contact had been made with an Agent Corvan of the CIA, who had agreed to help with the situation and that plans were in the initial stages of being arranged. Eberts would probably be getting very little sleep, especially since he was supposed to be arriving at the safe house at 0700 with a change of clothes for both Darien and Hobbes and breakfast for everyone.

"How's she doing, Fawkes?" Hobbes asked quietly, placing the phone in the inner pocket of his sport coat.

Darien shrugged. "What's the latest?"

"I'd offer you one a'those good news/bad news choices, 'cept I ain't got none that's good," Hobbes said, leaning his back against the wall next to the doorway.

"Crap," Darien muttered. "What now?"

"Her Jess has been spotted in the area, and word has trickled down that he suspects that she ran to you," Hobbes filled in.

"And therefore the Agency. Damn it. She doesn't need this shit, Hobbes." Darien slumped down, trying to think of a way out of this mess that would allow 'Chele to keep her hard earned freedom and get Jess and whoever he worked for off her back forever.

"You love her, don't you?" Hobbes asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, what of it? We've been friends for 25 years." Darien turned his head to watch his partner, who seemed to be disconcerted by his casual response.

"No, you mook, you _love_ her," Hobbes reiterated, as if Darien had been unable to get his meaning the first time around.

"Nah, just friends." Darien turned back to 'Chele who shifted uneasily again, trying to ignore the fact that this sounded ominously like that conversation he'd had with his uncle Peter all those years ago.

Hobbes rotated so that he could also see Michele in the dimly lit bedroom. "You in love with Doc Casey then?"

Darien sighed heavily. "I was once, was even screwing up the courage to ask her to marry me, but... vitae interruptus." He shrugged. "Shit happens, man."

"That it does," Hobbes agreed. "So your picture perfect family plans fell apart. Did you ever consider asking her?" He nodded towards the restlessly sleeping woman on the bed.

"Asked her more than once. Turned me down every time." Darien tipped his head down to stare at the scuffed toes of his shoes. "Michele wanted to make sure I had the chance at a family, an irony which is not lost on me at this point."

Hobbes mumbled something Darien didn't quite catch then spoke up. "Fawkes, you're telling me that what you felt for the Doc was the_ real thing_ and what you have with her," Hobbes pointed at Michele. "Is _just_ friendship?" At Darien's confused look Hobbes shook his head in dismay. "When you're having a crappy week who do you talk to?"

Hobbes' question seemed odd, but Darien answered truthfully. "'Chele, usually. No details, but she's someone I can rant at and hears _me_. If that makes any sense at all. You and Claire are usually involved in the mess one way or another."

Hobbes scratched the side of his neck while thinking. "And your good days?"

"'Chele, why... Oh, I get it. So she helps me work out some stuff when you guys can't, no big deal." Darien could hear the borderline snarkiness in his tone. This line of questions seemed to be leading nowhere, as he had already established the fact that he and 'Chele had been in contact all along.

"She's kept you balanced, Fawkes. Probably talked you outta pulling some really stupid shit along the way." Hobbes shook his head. "I think you got your definitions of _love_ mixed up, my friend."

Darien groaned as he realized where in the discussion the topic had circled back to. "Don't matter. Even if... _if_ she were 'the one,' she doesn't feel the same way about me," he explained at a near whisper.

Hobbes smacked him, albeit gently, on the arm. "You better get your eyes checked, 'cause you're going blind."

"Wha... What?" Darien was completely lost. What could Hobbes have possibly noticed in the last few hours that Darien had missed?

"Fawkes, she's crazy about you. Anyone with a bit of common sense can see that." Hobbes rubbed the top of his head with one hand. "Not that you have any of that. Look, partner, why'd you tell her to stay away? I bet it wasn't just the 'Fish or making sure bastards like Arnaud or Stark couldn't use her against you. I get the feeling she could handle them on her own."

Darien shifted about so his spine was against the doorframe, dragged one hand out of a pocket and through his hair. "You'd be right, she's managed to handle me just fine all these years. All those reasons are true, but... I didn't want to risk her becoming like Kev, another martyr to the cause. And I know her, that's exactly what she'd do." In his mind, Michele replaced the image of a bullet-riddled and bloody Kevin in his arms and he shivered lightly, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in response to the stimuli. 

"'Cause you're involved," Hobbes stated, but Darien nodded anyway to confirm it. "And you think she doesn't care."

"I never said she didn't care, just that she wasn't in love with me," Darien corrected hastily. 

Hobbes remained silent as the sounds from the bedroom increased. On the bed 'Chele raised one arm as if to ward off an assailant and cried out loud enough to be heard, "No Jess..."

"Crap, no wonder she hasn't been sleeping," Darien muttered, the worry heavy in his voice.

"Nightmares?" Hobbes asked softly.

"Yeah, she's had them ever since..." Darien shrugged. "It's not something you ever really get over, ya know, and with him showing up like this... I'm not all that surprised the dreams have returned." He pushed away from the doorframe and strode over to the bed. He Reached out and ran the knuckles of one hand across 'Chele's cheek. "Shhh, its all right, kitten, you're safe."

'Chele muttered a few more unintelligible phrases before sighing and settling back down for the moment.

"Get some sleep, Fawkes," Hobbes ordered from the doorway; his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the pair.

"You take the sofa bed, I'm probably too damn tall for it anyway," Darien pointed out, barely louder than a whisper, not wanting to risk waking her. "I'll grab some spare blankets and sleep on the floor."

"No, Fawkes. Its obvious she ain't gonna get the sleep she needs without you nearby, and that bed is more than big enough for the two of ya," Hobbes explained, much to Darien's surprise.

"Hobbes, you sure?" Darien stood up straight and faced his friend.

"Yeah, just no ... gettin' happy. Some of us need the sleep and you can't afford to be showing off your extra talents," Hobbes warned around a grin. "Company pier..."

Darien raised a hand and interrupted the mini-lecture. "Does not apply to 'Chele, got me?"

One eyebrow rose in an attempt to meet Hobbes' former hairline. "Got it. Now go to sleep." Hobbes closed the door partway, the light from the living room falling across the foot of the bed.

Darien chuckled softly at Hobbes' insistence at playing chaperone. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the bureau, then toed off his shoes and settled onto the bed. He rearranged the free pillows and lay back, sitting partially upright and waited. Within seconds 'Chele began to move and eventually shifted until her face was pressed against his side, her oft-preferred position when they slept in the same bed. She whimpered in her sleep and Darien set a hand on her back, quieting her instantly.

"Sleep, 'Chele, I'll be here," Darien spoke quietly, but knew he'd been heard as she sighed deeply and snuggled in even closer. He tucked his other hand behind his head and stared at the far wall, mulling over the comments Hobbes had made.


	23. Chapter 23

***

The soft rumble of contentment from his chest caused a responding vibration throughout Darien's body as he lay on the bed in that pleasant state between true sleep and annoying consciousness. He'd ended up sprawled on his back in the center of the bed with 'Chele curled atop him, and he could feel her head lying on his chest. His heart thumping slow and steady under her ear, her head rising and falling as he breathed, loose hairs tickling his chin every time he inhaled. He was comfortable and disinclined to wake up any further; he would gladly spend the entire day in this very position and take complete advantage of her nearness.

So the soft knock followed by the whispered brushing of the door across the rug was only vaguely acknowledged; he was aware of it, but for the moment was unconcerned. The likelihood that someone had gotten in here past a half dozen agents _and_ Hobbes was slim to none.

Hobbes, whose hesitant voice could suddenly be heard, asked, "Uh, Miss?"

Darien felt a small shock run through him when 'Chele instantly replied, "Yes? Do you need to speak with Darien?"

Darien could hear the door swing open a bit further and the muffled sound of Hobbes stepping into the room. "Actually, I need to speak with you, if you don't mind." He sounded cautiously polite, as if still unsure how to handle her.

'Chele shifted, her chin coming to rest to the left of Darien's sternum and drawing him a step closer to truly waking. "Of course. Five minutes?"

"Sure." And with that the sound of the door swinging shut far faster that it had been opened was heard and was followed by a deep sigh from 'Chele.

Darien tried to force his eyes open, but they wanted no part of it and remained stubbornly closed, forcing him to settle on creating a mental image of how she looked based on past times they'd woken up in bed together in the pre-dawn hours. "Mmmmm," he tried, feeling the need to say something.

Her deep, rich chuckle echoed through his entire body. "Sleep, Dare," she whispered as she moved, slipping upwards along his body. He wanted to stop her, not wanting to lose the sense of peace that had fallen upon him with her lying at his side. Her lips brushing along his caused a soft groan to be drawn from deep within as his hand moved of its own free will to find its way up to cradle the back of her head. She deepened the kiss for one moment, his mouth opening in response as she took languorous advantage of his still mostly sleeping body. When she broke away Darien whimpered in reaction, ending this moment was not what he was interested in. 

"Thank you," 'Chele said softly, even as her gratitude for being granted a much needed night's rest flowed across him. It was quickly followed by a sensation of calm, and a deep relaxation that drew him back towards the arms of Morpheus, whether or not he wanted to go there. Seconds later Michele was gone, physically, but, for some reason his dozing mind failed to understand; he could still _feel_ her.

He listened as she entered the bathroom, the sound of running water having a white noise effect that pushed him even further towards true sleep... before voices some unknown time later drew him partway back.

"...van has suggested a change in plans," Hobbes was saying, his voice muffled. 

There was quiet for several minutes before 'Chele spoke up. "I was afraid it would come to this, damn it." There was this shock of pain in her tone that struck Darien even as he still lay in the bed. "Can you pull this off?"

"Well, that depends..." Hobbes' disconcertment was plain to Darien after all this time. "How much of this is true?"

Darien guessed that Hobbes was referring to a file or something, and found his curiosity being roused along with his body. Sleep did suddenly not seem as necessary as knowing what was happening in the other room.

Eberts' voice broke in then, startling Darien. "This is highly classified information, Robert. Suffice it to say what's in this file is only the tip of a very large iceberg. She will be able to handle her end of things. Won't you, Miss MacTierney?" The question at the end held this hint of concern, which was at odds with the confidence expressed prior.

"I can do this, Agent Hobbes. Don't let the science geek cover fool you. I am perfectly capable of defending myself," Michele paused, and Darien could hear the irony in her voice when she spoke again. "I have a wide range of talents."

Hobbes grunted in acknowledgement, and Darien decided he probably should be out there for this discussion, especially since it sounded like they were planning how to get her someplace safe. He cracked his eyes open to stare about the still unfamiliar room, but his lids were pulled shut as a wave of peace and relaxation splashed across his senses, dragging him under the waves and into sleep. The instant before consciousness was completely wiped away he realized that he could still feel 'Chele... and that she was in the other room and out of direct contact with him. That realization, as shocking as it was to part of him, was still not enough to bring him back from the brink, and he sank into the deep water and dreams.

***

The fork stabbed down far more violently than necessary, the tines squealing across the plate to punctuate Darien's unhappiness with the plan as it currently stood. Admittedly, the simple fact 'Chele was going to be whisked away to places unknown didn't make him very happy. He'd finally gotten to see her for the first time in nearly three years and she was leaving, running away to hide from Jess and whomever he worked for. It reminded him eerily of when Alex had given up James, allowing the boy and his biological mother to vanish to parts unknown in hopes of keeping him safe from Stark and Chrysalis. Darien damn well knew how that one had turned out, though he was hoping to rectify that in the near future with yet another of his late night escapades.

Darien wanted Michele to stay, even though he knew as long as Jess was after her it would be impossible. Part of it was selfishness; he _missed_ her, damn it, and even though they had stayed in contact, it just wasn't he same as having her by his side. Besides, 'Chele deserved better than living like a cornered fox, hounds nipping at her heels at every turn, but he wasn't sure how to keep her safe without sequestering her in the Agency's pitiful version of The Community. As usual, there seemed to be no easy answers or simple solutions.

"Hobbes, I don't like this plan. Its too much like..." Darien ducked his head, suddenly finding the food that he'd lost his appetite for far more interesting. "You know, Monroe."

"Fawkes," Hobbes warned. "Some things are still need to know, y'know."

"Is that the wonder agent who had to give up her baby, and it backfired?" 'Chele asked as she sipped the cup of coffee in her hands. At Hobbes' glare at Darien she added, "Darien was rather upset over the incident, but I promise you there were no details. He has a bit of a soft spot for kids, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed," Hobbes agreed with a shake of his head. "Look, we do it this way 'cause it works. What happened with Monroe was the exception. We _all_ got played on that one." He picked up a doughnut and dunked it into his cup of coffee. "This'll go off without a hitch if you just follow the plan." He bit into his cruller for emphasis.

Darien poked listlessly at the French toast, and then let the fork drop with a clatter. "I think I should ride with her. I'll sit in back..."

Hobbes hurriedly swallowed. "No can do, Fawkes. I need you on point watching for trouble. You see stuff no one else does half the time, and I need you there for that reason."

Darien wasn't buying it, certain Hobbes was just trying to get him out of the way so the Official could pull some switcheroo where 'Chele was concerned. "Hobbes..."

"Darien," 'Chele interceded, one hand coming to rest atop his. "Do you trust Hobbes?"

There was no hesitation in Darien's answer, "With my life."

"Then trust him with mine," 'Chele stated softly, a certainty in her voice and eyes that he could not dismiss out of hand.

He noticed the way her other hand kept playing with the ruby hanging off the chain; the one he'd given to her. He knew that she wore it pretty much all the time, especially since their enforced separation, but today her toying with it seemed almost wistful instead of her usual habit. "You sure about this?" Darien asked her, shifting his hand to hold hers.

"I'm sure," she told him, giving him one of her brilliant smiles. "With the two of you to protect me, what could possibly go wrong?" her tone was facetious and Darien grinned.

Hobbes snorted. "To borrow a phrase, the mind boggles."

"Jeeze, Hobbes, great confidence builder there," Darien sniped, reaching out to swipe the remains of the doughnut from his partner's grasp.

"Hey," Hobbes complained, but then pulled another one out of the box. He offered it to Michele, who politely shook her head and released the jewel about her neck to pick up her coffee again. Darien noticed when Hobbes' eyes fell upon their still clasped hands and was relieved when the no-fishing nazi didn't comment. Right now, Darien didn't want to let go.

***

The blades on the helicopter slowly rotated about, the pilot keeping the engine warmed up for the arrival of the lone vehicle that was bringing Michele in for her rendezvous. There were seven agents secreted about this nearly abandoned airfield lying in the valley between dusty foothills southeast of the city. It might have been an El Nino winter, but you'd never know it by the dun-colored land that lay all about them. The only real color was the silver and rust brown hanger that Darien leaned back against, his eyes squinting even behind the dark lenses of the sunglasses he wore.

There were stacks of old crates, the remains of an ancient plane and assorted 50 gallon drums that the other agents were hiding behind, making this place look just as deserted as it had been before they'd arrived in the convoy of Agency POS vehicles. The cars were hidden behind some taller than normal brush and covered in desert camouflage netting that Hobbes had scrounged from somewhere, with the tracks efficiently brushed away.

He glanced down to check his watch, and chuckled as he realized it was gone: a silver-eyed redhead having swiped it the night before and had failed to return it. Her own style of pick-pocketing; blatant and obvious and yet somehow he still failed to call her on it even after all these years.

He knew for a fact 'Chele could lift things as well as he when she wanted to, he'd spent one entire summer teaching her the skill and helping her perfect her technique. He tipped his head up to find the sun and attempt to estimate the time based on its location in the sky, like he was some super boy-scout or something, when he knew that it was Hobbes' job in this partnership.

"_Fawkes, the package has arrived_," crackled in Darien's ear and he recognized the voice of Franklin, who had the joyous task of watching the road from the unenviable position in the brush on the hillside.

"Got it," Darien responded, then switched frequencies to speak directly to Kingsly, the pilot of the whirly-bird on the sand-covered tarmac. "Gentlemen, start your engines."

"_Roger_," was the reply, followed by the sound of the engine rumbling to life, the blades beginning to speed up rotation in preparation of a hasty exit.

Darien made his way to the far end of the hangar and peeked around the corner. He spotted the dust cloud that had to be from the transport vehicle; a quarter mile behind it was another heavier dust cloud that could only mean one thing. "Uh, Franklin, what's that coming up behind the transport vehicle?"

There was a soft curse and then the sound of movement before there was a rushed response. "_Two more vehicles. They are not ours. Repeat , they are not ours_."

"Shit," Darien swore softly. 

"_Should I warn the transport vehicle_?" Franklin asked.

Darien took a couple of seconds to think about it, as he was in charge of the team here, much to his surprise. "No, maintain radio silence," Darien ordered. Hobbes was in the car with 'Chele and Henderson so it wasn't very likely that the followers hadn't been noticed or planned for. "Pull in closer as rearguard, but stay out of sight."

"_Roger_," Franklin replied, and Darien had to fight the sudden urge to ask who 'Roger' was.

The sleek black sedan the Official had managed to borrow for this came into view and Darien moved back into his position where he could see the helicopter. The engines' roar covered the sound of the car as it came around the far side of the building to a stop in the foreground and a good twenty feet away from the helicopter. He had a perfect view of the car and watched as Hobbes climbed out of the passenger seat to look about warily before leaning back into the vehicle for a second.

Henderson exited his side a moment later, moved to the rear door and swung it open just as one of the unknown cars came flying right past Darien, having circled about the building, to slide to a stop sideways in front of the transport car. The second car pulled the same stunt, only blocking any possible retreat.

Nearly every single agent he was in direct contact with barked "_Fawkes_," in Darien's ear.

"Move up, but stay outta sight," Darien ordered. "Do _not_ move in until Hobbes says to." Hobbes had been insistent about this part. Darien and the other agents were to stay out of sight and let things play out. They were only to intervene if gunplay began. 

Not that Darien was carrying a gun in this adventure; he could count the number of occasions he'd actually carried a gun on a mission since successfully passing his agent's exam on one hand. So he was, of course, not surprised when black suited men boiled out of both cars with guns in hand. He recognized one of the men standing by the car blocking the Agency car's retreat, even with the dark glasses that shock of blond hair and superior smile on his face was a dead give away. Jess Stevenson.

The men in the other car began firing, hitting the Agency sedan and instantly flattening both front tires, hitting the radiator, which sent a burst of superheated steam into the air and puncturing the front windshield in three places.

"_Move in. Return fire_," Hobbes shouted, breaking the silence even as he ducked behind the open door and fired back.

The Agency personnel came out of their hiding places, the gunshots loud even over the roar of the helicopter engine and sent Jess' goons scrambling for cover. Darien watched all this in growing dismay and concern, stray bullets pinging into the metal structure near him and into the assorted wooden crates and pallets. A few even hit the helicopter, but without any obvious effect.

"Hobbes," Darien radioed, hoping to get some clue for how to end this standoff with none of their people getting hurt.

"_Stay put, Fawkes_," was the shouted order followed by another volley of gunfire and Hobbes nailing two of Jess' men before him. "_Henderson, are we clear_."

"_Negative. The package has not been delivered_," Henderson responded as he too took a few shots, firing at those who were boxing them in from the rear.

"Crap," Darien muttered, knowing the _package_ was Michele and that this meant she had not left the car and gotten into the helicopter as planned. She was currently trapped with no easy way out unless Jess and his men backed off.

Dread settled into his belly like an indelible piece of granite as he looked over the area, trying to see a way to force a resolution and found his eyes settling upon the gathering of metal drums. Raising his glasses and squinting against the glare he could just make out the faded remains of a red triangle surrounding a flame painted upon several and somehow knew with a certainty that bordered on precognition that the drums weren't empty. Weren't filled with something as innocuous as potable water, that they were most certainly filled with jet fuel of one type or another, as he could remember Hobbes mentioning that drug runners used this airstrip. It made sense that they'd kept a fuel supply nearby and that they maintained it so poorly, for it would attract little or no attention in this state.

As he stood there the distinctive _plink_ of several of the drums being hit could be heard and he could only watch as the liquid contained within began to pour out over the dust-coated tarmac. It dampened the ground, pooled and then, as if Murphy himself had stepped in and directed it, it began to flow in the direction of the car and helicopter.

"Hobbes, you got trouble," Darien hissed into the mic. 

"_No shit, Fawkes_," Hobbes snapped, then swore quite creatively when the window of the door he'd been shielding himself with shattered, the shot having come from behind. "_Henderson, Kingsly, fall back_,"

"Hobbes?" Darien shouted in confusion. 

"_The package_..." Henderson began.

"_Fall back_," Hobbes repeated, cutting off the other man's words.

Darien listened, stunned, not willing to believe that Hobbes was just going to abandon 'Chele to Jess even as it seemed that was exactly what was happening. But as Darien watched, Hobbes ducked into a crouch and raced away from the car, with not one shot fired in his direction. The copter came under heavy fire then; the pilot staying until the engine itself was hit, adding smoke and flames to the chaos that was in control at the moment. Running for his life, the pilot took off for the decrepit plane that lay on the far side of the airfield and away from the battle going on. Henderson, however, held his position, not willing or perhaps not able to get away.

The feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong increased suddenly and somehow Darien knew 'Chele was in trouble, that whatever had been planned had gone horribly fubar. More shots were fired, and as if it was ordained from above, the ultimate movie cliche played itself out before his eyes. One of the stray bullets _twanged_ off the concrete and created a spark, which then had the audacity to land in the vicinity of the slowly flowing liquid and igniting the fumes that hovered about it with a soft _whoosh_. 

"Hobbes," Darien pleaded at a shout as the flames raced in two directions at once: back towards the drums and towards the car that Michele was still in.

"_Hold your ground_," Hobbes ordered, yet again, much to Darien's total disbelief.

Could Hobbes be so angry over the whole not knowing about 'Chele thing that he'd let her die? Darien refused to believe it, yet he was watching the scene play out before his eyes. A few more gunshots and Henderson went down, injured, but not dead based on the string of imprecations coming across the headset from the man.

A wave a total fear raced across Darien's senses then, and he felt the Quicksilver flow across him in reaction. Before he realized he'd even moved he found himself halfway across the tarmac with Hobbes shouting in his ear.

"_I said hold position, you idiot_." From the sound of it Hobbes was completely pissed, but Darien didn't care. He yanked the earpiece out and let it dangle down his back, intentionally ignoring the tinny voice of his partner who continued to shout at him.

Jess' men were cautiously moving in to secure the car; the flaming gasoline had reached the front end of the sedan, and the helicopter was going nowhere without some major repairs. Completing the mad dash across the open expanse, thankful the gunfire had essentially stopped, Darien raced around the rear end of the car and got Henderson to his feet. "Go," Darien's ghostly voice hissed. "Drop your gun and go. They won't fire on you."

Henderson forced himself to his feet, applying pressure to his shoulder with the opposite hand, blood flowing out between his fingers. He staggered away towards the helicopter and under the tail, heading to the same area where the pilot had taken cover.

Darien looked into the rear of the car and saw 'Chele struggling to sit up, her eyes more than a little wild, which was understandable given the situation. As usual, things had gone straight to hell in a major way. He reached out, set a hand on her shoulder and let the Quicksilver flow across her. By feel he got a good hold on her upper arm and helped her out of the car, then, knowing time was running out, he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the nearest solid structure they could hide behind. Turned out to be a stack of crates partially covered in a tattered tarp. It was too near to Jess by far, but his choices were currently limited. He headed about the pile, putting it between both the Agency sedan and Jess, that feeling of imminent doom making his skin crawl and causing him to hunch protectively over Michele.

They just made it behind the stack when the first explosion rocked the area. He went to a crouch, holding 'Chele close in hopes of protecting her from any flying debris, which began to pepper the area before them. Pieces smacked into the pile with solid _thunks_. Two more explosions followed, and flaming pieces of car began to rain down about them. Darien recognized one of the side mirrors from the car when it landed just three feet in front of them, the black paint bubbling and still smoking. 

Seconds later shouts of pure frustration rang out from the rat-bastard himself - Jess - and shortly thereafter the squealing tires of two cars getting the hell away while the getting was good. Now that things were relatively safe, Darien uncurled and looked down at 'Chele who was still in his arms, glowing a gorgeous electric blue to his Quicksilvered eyes.

That stopped his brain for a long second. "Hey, how come you're blue?" he asked, certain his confusion was evident in his tone.

"Huh?" 'Chele responded, as she shifted in an attempt to sit up a bit more.

"Its just that when I usually Quicksilver stuff it gets this golden aura, not blue." Darien's mouth had apparently reasoned out that need to know was no longer an issue, especially not when 'Chele was covered in the biggest need to know the Agency and he had.

"Maybe 'cause it not your Quicksilver," 'Chele replied with a bit of a laugh. "And you are a very pretty shade of gold, by the way." The laughter died and became a whimper. 

Darien could see the outline of one of her arms moving, the hand pressing against her side. He dropped the Quicksilver and she went from a glowing outline to nothing, a damn cold nothing lying sprawled across his thighs. "Come on, 'Chele, show yourself," he pleaded, his voice soft.

With a groan that was quite obviously pain, the Quicksilver cascaded off her body, her hand raised up for both of them to easily see. It was covered in blood. 

"I think I've been shot," she stated, then her eyes rolled back and she went completely limp in his hold, her hand dropping to lie across her abdomen.

"Oh no," Darien said in a shockingly small voice. This couldn't be happening... he couldn't be losing her. He'd lost too damn many people recently to let her go that easily. "'Chele, baby, don't do this to me." A shaky hand lifted and set fingers to her throat to find a less than steady beat, but at least he knew she was still alive. He just had to keep her that way. Darien looked her over, he spotted the dark stain spreading across her gray t-shirt, and lifted the edge of her cardigan away to reveal the hole through her shirt; there was even a singe mark along the edge of the sweater from the bullet's high-speed passage.

Darien moved the shirt and gasped at the amount of blood flowing from the seemingly small hole, and for the first time he noticed that his shirt and slacks were covered with it. "Damn it, no." He did the first thing that came to mind, Quicksilvered his hand and set it against the open wound, the blood congealing and freezing in a matter of seconds. He shook it off as it flaked away and reached beneath her to see if there was an exit wound. He wasn't sure whether to be relived or worried that there wasn't one, which meant the bullet was still buried inside her. Hell, she could be bleeding internally, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

"Wake up for me, Michele. I need you here. With me. Please." The last was a plea that was torn from him, surprising even himself with exactly how deeply he cared about her, loved her. She didn't so much as even moan in pain, her body still limp and unresponsive in his arms. He needed to get her help and soon.

Completely forgetting about the headset he still wore, Darien shouted at the top of his lungs, "Hobbes!"


	24. Chapter 24

***

_So this way too observant chick named Lillian said, "It is not good to see people who have been pretending strength all their lives lose it even for a minute." _

_It's even harder to watch when you know the strength is real, and know that you can't do a damn thing to help regain it. _

_Sometimes you have to stand back and watch as they find it again for themselves... or yourself._

There was a pattern to the painstakingly crafted wood floor that Darien tread slowly down. Paler diamonds in groups of four, alternating with zigzags in planks so dark they were nearly black. The pattern may have been unintentional, but he noticed and by habit memorized it. There were exactly 54 of the diamonds between the elevator and the doorway he was ever so slowly heading towards; the door he didn't really want to think about, or rather, what lay beyond it. It was too intense, too immediate, and right now too damn painful. He really wished they could've met back at the Agency, allowing him to rant in the Official's office and then sulk down in the Keep. But, no, the Official was bound and determined to get full value from this borrowed safe house and decided this would be where they would meet after everyone who could be accounted for had been.

Darien knew the whole floor staring and diamond-counting thing was nothing but a poor attempt to distract himself from the very real reason he was here. To try and ignore the guilt that was making his stomach churn, his head ache and his steps come with a painful slowness more appropriate for a man three times his age, which he once had the joy of being, so he knew how accurate the comparison was. As the feet of the man standing outside the door came into view, Darien lifted his head and couldn't help but note how out of place the dark suit was in the art-deco sophistication that the interior of the building was trying capture. He managed to just get his hand on the doorknob when it was yanked out of his hold to reveal his pissed off partner.

"Where the hell have you been, Fawkes?" The voice was soft but laden with inch thick irritation. "You shoulda been here an hour ago."

Darien tipped his head down and shuffled his feet in a game attempt at sheepishness. "Yeah, I know but... I _had_ to get outta those clothes." That was an understatement; by the time Claire had appeared to give them the news the blood he'd been covered in had cooled and begun to congeal, to even dry in some places. Bobby had taken care of keeping the Official and Eberts in the loop and then passed on what was to happen next in this grand plan, which had _not_ included sitting around on the cheap plastic chairs in Fort Leavitt's ER waiting room for any longer than absolutely necessary. Once everything had been arranged and Darien had been told to take off, he made a detour by his place to shower and change, not able to spend one more second in those clothes. He'd made a second stop on the way back to the safe house, which had resulted in the small black bag he held in one hand.

"Ah," Hobbes said effusively as Darien scooted past him and into the small apartment.

"Any word?" Darien asked, hoping something had gone right in this mess.

Hobbes caught up with Darien after making sure the hallway was clear. "Couple of mooks have been spotted watching home base, but that's it so far. The pair that followed us to Leavitt vanished when word trickled out that... you know." Hobbes made his way over to the window and peeked out between the curtains, checking for watchers at a guess, though what he could see from six stories up was beyond Darien. "Eberts has his ear to the ground. He'll let us know if something happens."

"Good, good," Darien muttered as he ran a surprisingly shaky hand through his hair while he looked about the room at the three agents hovering about the place; each pretending to have something of the utmost importance to do. "Hobbes," he whined softly.

Hobbes sighed. "Go on," He waved in the direction of the partially shut bedroom door. "You won't be satisfied 'til you see for yourself."

Darien gave his partner a ghost of a grin and headed for the bedroom. He poked his head around the door and swung it a bit wider to enter when he saw that it was reasonably safe. Claire was quickly pumping the bulb of the blood pressure cuff wrapped about 'Chele's right arm. She was curled up on her side with pillows stuffed behind her back for support in a set of dark green scrubs from the hospital; her own clothes had been as beyond salvaging as his. There was a light blanket draped across her legs even though the room was more than comfortable temperature-wise. She looked tiny and pale against the deep green cover she was lying upon.

Claire released the remainder of the air from the cuff and then stripped it off, the Velcro's distinctive ripping sound loud in the quiet room. She made a few final adjustments to the IV drip before turning to give Darien a tired smile.

Darien bobbed his head, hoping she wasn't about to chew him out for intruding. "Hey, Keep, how's she doing?"

"_She_ is doing just fine," a gravelly voice stated. 'Chele turned her head and opened her eyes to look over at him. "Though she is in a bit of pain."

Claire snorted. "'A bit?' Your blood pressure is far too high for my liking, as is your heart rate, but thanks to your ... unique body chemistry I am unable to give you anything for the pain." She stood there, one hand on her hip, plainly irritated with the situation. That was an improvement, she'd been downright livid at Leavitt. "I suppose I should be thankful you came out of the general without complications _and_ that I got there with your medical records before they had done something irrevocable. Thanks heavens they used plasma first or you..."

"I know what I'd be, Claire, but since it didn't happen you can stop worrying about it. The nausea is mostly gone anyway," 'Chele grouched right back, realizing even better than Claire how close it had been, next to Darien, that is. He probably knew almost as much as 'Chele about the potential pitfalls concerning her weird metabolism. The pinched look that appeared on the Keeper's face made Darien want to laugh, so he bit the inside of his cheek and held it back; he didn't want to be kicked out of the room so soon after arriving.

"Claire, didn't you read the report citing that natural redheads have a higher pain threshold? I'll survive," 'Chele managed a bit of humor this time, which was enough to make Claire roll her eyes and relax the tiniest bit.

"You should be in the hospital for at least another 24 hours as a precaution," Claire grumbled, and not for the first time. Half the staff at Leavitt knew her opinion on the matter, but she'd been overridden by orders from the Official. "That ... _man_ has no concept..."

"Claire..." 'Chele's voice held a quiet strength that brought the Keeper's rant up short. "It was necessary."

Claire sighed dramatically. "I know, but... I could have at least attempted to make you comfortable there. Unnecessary pain could only complicate your recovery."

"I might have something that'll help." Darien showed them the bag he held.

"D, you are a god," 'Chele affirmed, obviously recognizing the bag; the relief evident in her tone despite all her previous protestations of being 'fine.'

"You just now figuring this out?" He grinned when she chuckled, but was instantly contrite when she winced and pressed a hand to her side as if to hold herself together. He moved to perch on the edge of the bed near her. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Michele told him, pain imbedded in the words. "Just no more making me laugh, right now, 'kay?"

"Yeah, good idea," Darien agreed.

"What's this?" Claire asked, as Darien handed her the bag.

"Painkiller I _can_ use," 'Chele explained. "It's designed to work specifically with my metabolism."

Claire zipped open the bag and removed the vial and syringe that lay within. "You created a metabolic painkiller?" she asked sounding surprised.

"Uh, huh." Michele's eyes drifted shut as Darien set his hand over her right one, not wanting to get tangled with the IV line stuck into the crook of her left elbow. He was hoping to give her something to focus on besides the pain. "Blew my back out a few years ago after doing a Judo move wrong and decided enough was enough."

"Does it work with your natural pain endorphins?" Claire seemed to be utterly fascinated with 'Chele's discovery. "Is it difficult to produce?"

"Yes to the former and no to the latter. Well, once I had the program written, no. Need a DNA sample and some other data, but after that..." Michele squeezed Darien's hand hard enough to grind the knuckles together, which made him hiss softly.

"Keep, how about interrogating her _after_ you give her some?" Darien requested plaintively, as not only was 'Chele on the verge of crushing his hand, but he could _feel _how much pain she was in.

"Oh, yes, of course." Claire popped the plastic cap off the syringe and shoved it into the vial. "How much?"

"One cc," Darien and Michele said in unison, which caused Claire to eye them warily.

"He's had to dose me on occasion," 'Chele explained, her voice gone faint.

Claire withdrew the suggested amount and then aspirated the syringe. "What painkiller did you use as the base?" she asked as she injected the contents into the IV line that was feeding Michele a combination of saline and antibiotics.

"Morphine, though you'd never know by looking at it now." 'Chele paused, shuddering slightly. "Its been heavily modified to handle the gene tags." She trailed off as almost convulsively her legs drew up, forcing her into a nearly fetal position and to groan aloud.

"Easy, kitten, it'll pass," Darien soothed, his free hand brushing stray curls from her face.

"Darien?" Claire failed to hide the sudden concern for her newest patient.

"Normal, Keep. As Michele has often said, 'it may work, but that don't mean the initial effects are enjoyable'." Darien continued his gentle caresses until 'Chele's body finally relaxed. "You okay?"

"Uh, huh," 'Chele responded, her eyes coming open.

"You'll have to tell me how you went about creating this, Michele. Your diversification of studies obviously paid off," Claire complimented as she put away the vial and syringe.

'Chele grinned. "All this," she motioned to herself, "and brains too." She adjusted the blanket upwards as if still feeling cold. "Damn, who knew getting shot hurt so much?"

"I did," Darien commented as he raised his hand.

"Darien, you were wearing kevlar," Claire reminded him.

"Only for the handgun. I still have the scar from the rifle shot," Darien countered, knowing it was true as far as it went, and he couldn't help but grin when Michele snickered.

"Arguing over old gunshot wounds; so not the Dare I remember. Nor the Claire for that matter." She shifted, trying to get her left arm, IV line and all, more comfortable and failing miserably based on the look of discontent on her face.

"You should rest," Claire admonished as she picked up the blood-pressure cuff and wrapped it about 'Chele's biceps.

"I'm fine," 'Chele assured her. "The sedative effect has been mostly eliminated." At Claire's sharp glance Michele added, "I generally need to be functional even on these stronger meds." She sighed softly as Claire finished and removed the cuff.

"Much better," Claire informed them.

"I'll probably need another half cc in a bit. I still hurt, just nowhere near as bad." 'Chele dragged Darien's hand over and kissed the knuckles. "Thank you, bub."

"Thank you?" Darien shook his head in consternation, knowing full well that her lying on the bed injured was all his fault. He could only be thankful it hadn't been any worse than it was. The bullet had lodged comparatively harmlessly in the muscle above her right hip. She'd bled like the dickens and passed out from the combined pain and blood loss, but the injury itself, was fairly minor. Or so Claire had assured him several times. "I ignored Hobbes' orders and nearly got you killed."

He'd forced himself to face that little bit of reality when still pacing the ER and waiting for news, Hobbes had begun chewing him out as soon as Michele had been whisked away for emergency surgery. The lecture hadn't gone on for very long as Darien had simply stood there, his head hanging and agreeing with every comment made about his thick skull and inability to listen to even the simplest of orders. Darien was quite certain 'Chele had been hit when he pulled her from the car as he could distinctly remember the sound of gunshots at the time, but he hadn't realized the potential danger. He had only known he _had_ to get to her.

"Darien, I was shot while still in the car. You saved my life."

Darien just sat there and stared at her in disbelief. "Wha... What?"

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I was shot during the first few minutes after Jess and his friends showed up. Near as I can figure the bullet went through the windshield and the seat in front of me before it nailed me, since I had ducked down like I'd been told. The five minutes it took for you to come pull me out were the longest in my life."

"Five minutes? Seemed lots longer than that." Okay, so it was not the most brilliant repartee he'd ever managed, but for some reason he wasn't processing things too well at the moment.

'Chele closed her eyes for a second. "So it was technically six point three minutes," she corrected as she opened them, plainly having done a quick review of the incident and compared it to that annoyingly accurate time-clock in her mind, "but five sounded better to me." She gave him a lopsided grin. "Darien, you okay?"

She was asking _him_ if he was 'okay?' He wasn't sure how to answer her, since he'd been convinced her injuries were his fault and here she was telling him that he'd saved her life. That his brash move, which Hobbes had chewed his ass off for, had actually been the right thing to do. That he'd acted correctly in a situation that had gotten completely out of control and done the right thing at just the right time for a change. "'Chele..."

"Fawkes," Hobbes said, and Darien turned about to see his partner poking his head in the doorway. Hobbes swung the door wide and smiled, apparently in response to seeing a conscious woman lying on the bed. "How you doing, Michele?"

Darien was even more shocked at the brilliant smile she tossed right back. "Just fine, Bobby," she responded, leaving Darien to wonder what had transpired while he'd been out of sight. He certainly couldn't see 'Chele falling for Hobbes' carefully crafted charm, especially not right after surgery. But something must have happened when they had been together during transport back to the safe house to thaw the ice.

"Fawkes," Hobbes repeated. "Need to debrief you."

'Chele spoke up, "Can you do that in here? I imagine you'll have questions for me and I'd rather get it over with all at once."

Hobbes pondered for a moment and then deferred to Claire. "Keep, that okay with you?"

The doctor frowned, but could see as easily as Darien that 'Chele would get stubborn if Claire refused. "All right, but you are to take it easy, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Ask D, for a doc I'm a pretty good patient." 'Chele grinned and Darien couldn't suppress a wry chuckle, as her statement was true enough.

"Oh yeah, we..." he began only to be cut off.

Claire shook her head. "No. I do not want to hear about you two 'playing doctor'."

Hobbes snorted in amusement. "Let's do this."

Darien released 'Chele's hand and carefully shifted about until settled next to her on the bed. He had moved the pillows away so that she now leaned against him, a tiny sigh escaping from her as she did so. He sought out the hand unencumbered by the IV line and twined their fingers together, he could sense that she needed the comfort it provided. The comfort that _he_ provided.

"What went wrong, Hobbes? I thought the car was supposed to be bullet-proof."

"It was," Hobbes grumbled as he leaned against the doorframe. "Don't do much good when the bad guys are using armor-piercing rounds."

"Crap," Darien muttered, realizing Jess had been out to get Michele one way or another. "So what went wrong? Why didn't you get her in the copter and outta here?" Darien had the feeling he was missing something, but wasn't quite sure what.

'Chele chuckled and then groaned as it caused some measure of pain even with the medication.

"That bird wasn't going nowhere, Fawkes," Hobbes informed Darien. "It was for special effects and nothing more."

"Huh? You saying it couldn't fly?" Hobbes nodded in response to Darien's confused query. "Then Kingsly..." Darien wasn't quite sure what he was asking at this point.

"Oh, he's a chopper pilot, all right, but that one was a sacrifice piece, is all." Hobbes pushed away from the door and moved into the room, eventually settling into the chair under the heavily curtained window.

Darien shook his head. "Nope, still lost."

"Dare, I was originally supposed to get into the helicopter, Quicksilver and then sneak out." 'Chele's voice was oddly flat and Darien could tell she was being very careful to not let her emotions leak over to him.

"Then what? Blow it up?" When Hobbes nodded, Darien was sorely tempted to throw up his hands and walk away. "So you planned to fake her death all along and didn't tell me?"

"Darien, it was necessary. Jess knows about us; if your reactions were anything less than real..." She rolled a bit more onto her back so she could look up at him easier. "Deception is sometimes needed to sell the con; you _know_ that."

"I know, but... You had me scared, sweets," Darien admitted, deciding it wasn't worth getting upset about at this point. It was over and she was _alive_, that's what was important.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut again, only her thumb gently rubbing along the heel of his hand gave away the fact that she was still awake.

Hobbes picked up the thread of the story next. "Those mooks showed up a bit sooner than we planned for, and the heavy firepower was unexpected. Once the car was trashed I modified the plan." One hand came up to momentarily scratch the top of his head. "She was supposed to make the sneak from the car instead."

"How would they even know she was in the car?" Claire asked unexpectedly. Darien had pretty much forgotten she was even in the room, she was being so quiet.

'Chele laughed lightly. "That was easy, and about the only thing that went right."

"We let 'em 'discover' the radio frequency we was using," Hobbes answered with a hint of a smile. "Michele, if I had known you'd been hit..."

"Bobby, I didn't even realize it until it was too late. Shit, all I knew was that I hurt, but not why. I'd logged it off to a healthy case of extreme fear and adrenaline overload." 'Chele tried to shift in an attempt to look directly at Bobby, but gave it up as a bad job after a few seconds. "Is Henderson all right?"

"Yeah. In overnight for observation, but should heal up just fine," Hobbes told her, and Darien could sense the relief that she felt at the words. 

"Did we get any of them?"

"Two dead, three wounded and awaiting some serious interrogation." Hobbes sounded quite satisfied with that minor success. "The one I spoke to was _not_ happy to learn you 'died' in the explosion."

'Chele managed a wisp of a smile. "The silver lining."

"We'll get what we can outta them and then _accidentally_ let one'a them escape so's they can report back." Hobbes' voice turned suddenly serious. "We'll do everything we can to find out who they are."

"Thanks, Bobby." Michele's voice was surprisingly strained to Darien's ears.

"Baby, you all right?" Darien asked even as she began to shiver, her hand closing convulsively about his.

"Claire, how long 'til the inhibitor is ready?" 'Chele asked plaintively.

Claire glanced at her watch before answering. "I can have a dose here in about an hour." It was obvious even to the Keeper that something was wrong, though she was unfamiliar with 'Chele's specific problems. "Michele, can you hold out that long?"

"No choice." 'Chele groaned loudly, her head snapping back to collide with Darien's ribs. He'd have voiced his unhappiness with that except for the fact his head was suddenly filled with a white noise that was like nothing he'd ever heard before. _And it hurt._ The sound was so loud, so overpowering that he flinched, his hands coming up to cover his ears, her hand still held in one, to try and block the sound and stop the rush of pain that it inspired.

With a hysterical whimper Michele yanked her hand from his grip, cutting off the sound instantly; the pain, however, lingered, but was reduced to a dull ache he could easily handle after everything he'd been through in the last few years. The initial discomfort level had definitely been up there with Quicksilver madness for pure nastiness.

"'Chele?"

"Darien, is she all right?" Claire asked as she moved to the woman's side and reached out to grasp her wrist, presumably to take her pulse.

"Don't," Darien warned her off, knowing she would just get to experience the exact same thing he had, and it was a fair bet she wouldn't handle it nearly as well. "Just hurry with that inhibitor."

It was closer to two hours before Claire returned with the inhibitor stashed away in that locked metal briefcase of hers, and by then Michele was completely out of it. She shivered, twitched, moaned and whimpered, but was unresponsive to anyone. Claire had questioned him on what was happening before she had left, but on this occasion Darien had no more idea than she did. The three year separation had left him with major gaps in his knowledge of what was going on with 'Chele. Hell, he certainly hadn't known about her being able to Quicksilver and fully intended to ask her about it when she was ... herself again.

He stayed with her, more worried than he could remember being in a long time. The closest he could come was when Claire had run into problems thawing Adam. Darien was the only one who could get close to her at the moment, but not even he could touch her. 'Chele would zap anyone who got within a foot of her except him, so he sat beside her and talked to her in hopes of keeping her calm while he continued to worry.

The scent of marinara sauce wafting in from the kitchen made his stomach rumble, reminding him it had been a long time since that abortive breakfast of the morning, but his overweening concern for his long time friend soured his hunger, turning it to nausea instead.

From the main room Darien heard Hobbes say, "Hey, Keep."

"How is she, Bobby?" Claire asked, her voice shifting as she moved through the apartment.

"See for yourself," he replied as he swung the bedroom door wide for her.

"Do you have it?" Darien didn't even bother to try and hide the concern he felt.

"Yes, Darien." Claire set the briefcase down on the chair and picked up the stethoscope. "I just want to check her vitals first." 

As she reached out to grasp 'Chele's wrist both men shouted, "No," just a second too late.

'Chele didn't move as a dime-sized spark leapt from the back of her hand to impact against Claire's fingers with a loud_ snap_.

"Bloody hell," Claire squealed as she jerked her hand back, rubbing it with the other, a look of wide-eyed astonishment on her face. "What the devil was that?" She seemed to be generally surprised to find her hand undamaged even if she still rubbed it as if it had gone numb. Which it probably had, Hobbes had been zapped earlier and complained the spot had been numb for a good 20 minutes.

"Later, Keep. Please," Darien pleaded as the air in the room began to get decidedly heavy. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in reaction.

"Yes, that might be wise," Claire agreed hastily as the light on the bedside table began to flicker erratically. She swiftly opened the metallic case and retrieved the pre-filled syringe. She made sure it was free of air-bubbles and then injected the contents into the IV line.

Darien watched as the faintly golden liquid flowed through the tubing and into 'Chele. For several seconds the lights in the room flickered even more wildly, the air in the room feeling charged, as if lightning were about to strike. Then, in an instant, it vanished. What happened next Darien expected, though not to the degree which it occurred. 

'Chele's entire body stiffened, arching backwards, the tendons of her neck standing out with the strain her body was currently under.

"Damn it," Claire hissed, rushing to her bag to find something to assist what appeared to be grande mal seizures.

"It's okay, Claire," Darien assured her, somehow keeping the sudden cold lump of fear in his gut from seeping into his voice.

Hobbes poked his head into the room. "Everything copacetic in here?" He got a good look at Michele and swore softly. "Keep, you need me to arrange transport back to Leavitt?"

Claire looked over to Darien first and he shook his head _no_, certain that 'Chele would be fine once the drug took full effect. "Not yet, Bobby," Claire finally answered, trusting in Darien's more extensive knowledge of Michele's reactions to the inhibitor.

Hobbes frowned, plainly not liking that answer. "You sure? 'Cause..." He swallowed his next words as a long moan was emitted by the tiny figure on the bed.

Michele relaxed, curling up and wrapping her arms about herself. She didn't open her eyes or even seem to begin to return to consciousness, and just lay there shivering as if the room was freezing cold.

Claire proceeded to take 'Chele's vitals as Darien picked up her right hand and rubbed it gently between his own in an attempt to get her to reconnect. "Come on, Michele, wake up and let me know you're okay."

There was no response for several minutes as Claire finished her tasks and pulled the covers up higher about the chilled woman. Finally, in a groggy voice, 'Chele mumbled, "Do I hafta?" It was barely audible, but it was enough to gain sighs of relief from all three people in the room.

Darien chuckled, the worry falling away to be replaced with this unexpected joy. "Yes, just for a few. You're freaking Claire."

'Chele's eyes fluttered open slowly, as if fighting a gravity well ten times the norm to gaze about the room blindly. "Sorry, D, went too long this time. Takes a while to find my way back."

Not even Darien had any idea what she was talking about this time, but her words didn't seem to phase either Claire or Hobbes at all, since neither one asked the half expected questions.

"You need to rest," Claire stated as she put away the equipment, pulled out a new bag for the IV and exchanged it with the nearly empty one.

'Chele gave Claire a wan smile, but didn't disagree with the orders, which told Darien that she did indeed need that rest at this point. "Need that additional painkiller dose now," she told her temporary doctor.

"All right," Claire responded, and set about getting it.

"Keep?" Hobbes questioned, the concern disguised but plain to Darien.

"I think she'll be fine... if she cooperates and actually rests for a while." Claire injected the painkiller and watched 'Chele carefully for a similar reaction to the one she'd had earlier. There was no visible one this time; she was so exhausted that she did little more than moan in discomfort as it hit her system. Claire faced Hobbes squarely. "She cannot be moved for at least 24 hours." It was obvious by the look of mule-like stubbornness that there would be no arguing with her.

"I'll let the boss know," Hobbes acknowledged with a tip of his head. "Last update we got Corvan can't get here 'til day after tomorrow anyway. We'll just have to be careful 'bout attracting attention to this place is all." He was all business right now.

"I think we can manage that," Darien commented dryly.

"Dinner's in 10 minutes and you _will_ eat." Hobbes leveled a steely glare at Darien, whose stomach rumbled loudly in agreement to Hobbes' directive.

"Gotcha. I just wanna make sure 'Chele's asleep first."

Hobbes nodded, "Good 'nuff," and vacated the doorway.

"That okay, Keep?" Darien asked, realizing he probably should have done so first. He didn't want to cause any trouble or interfere with 'Chele's recovery.

"Please?" 'Chele pleaded in a tiny voice.

"Yes, he can stay if you promise to sleep. You need time to heal," Claire reminded the unrepentant woman lying on the bed.

"Promise," Michele croaked, not bothering to hide her discomfort or exhaustion this time.

Claire nodded, made a few adjustments to the IV drip and then left the couple alone.

"Hey, kitten, you gave us a heck of a scare. What's up with your abilities?" Darien was inordinately curious to find out what had happened over the last few years: the Quicksilver, the super-shocker... everything.

"Tomorrow, okay? I'll tell you all I can then," she practically begged, paling slightly in the soft light of the room.

"Shit," Darien groused at himself. "Don't mind me, I'm just an idiot." He wanted to smack himself for being such a bonehead.

"Thought you were a god?" she quipped with a tired chuckle. "Would you just hold me for a bit?"

"Sure." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, which made her sigh softly.

"I missed you, Darien," her voice cracked on the words, telling him that there were a ton of emotions buried behind the seemingly simple statement.

"Damn girl, I missed you too." He gave her another kiss, this time on the lips, then set about to lie down behind her in the middle of the huge bed without hurting her. It took a couple of minutes, but 'Chele was eventually contentedly snuggled back against him, his right hand possessively entwined with hers and tucked up under her chin.

They lay there quietly for some time, her body noticeably relaxing bit by bit, while Darien did nothing more that enjoy the wonderful sense of peace that had fallen upon him; a feeling he'd not experienced in a long, long time. Before she fell completely under Darien asked a question that had been making a nuisance of itself in his head since she'd appeared in the Official's office the day before. "Michele?"

"Mmmmmmm," was the sleepy response.

"If you could do anything, whatever you wanted, what would it be?"

"Hmmmmmanything?" Her voice had that only semi-conscious lilt to it.

"Uh, huh. Anything."

"Be with you," she mumbled, without thinking about it for even an instant. "Finish my research," she added after a moment. She did nothing but breathe deeply for such a long time he was sure she'd fallen asleep when she spoke up again, "Oh, and be with you. Did I say that already?"

"Nah, now go to sleep," Darien told her, totally blown away by her answer. Somehow he knew that if she had been awake her response would have been very different. He had never once even dared to imagine that being with him would be part of her reply, or that it was something that she wanted. 

Maybe, just maybe, Hobbes was onto something.


	25. Chapter 25

***

Darien shifted and stretched out a hand to touch... nothing but the smooth pillowcase and crumpled covers. His eyes cracked open to find the bed missing the injured woman that should still be there. Panic sent an instant rush of adrenaline through his system that didn't ease up any when he noticed the IV line was draped over the little electronic box that monitored the flow, and that the power had obviously been turned off for the machine. "'Chele?" he called out hoping she had simply made her way into the bathroom to deal with a call of nature. When no response was forthcoming the panic ratcheted up another notch; he tossed off the covers, rushed for the door to the bedroom and flung it open.

He froze when he clearly heard 'Chele say around a laugh, "Out thou cretin, ruiner of perfectly innocent omelets."

Darien could see 'Chele in the kitchen, attempting to ward off a snickering Agent Kingsly with a spatula. "Ma'am, you're supposed to be resting." The ear to ear grin on the man's face spoiled the authoritative tone. "Doctor's orders."

"Well this _doctor_," she pointed at herself, "is ordering about 500 calories of real food and not the half-burned slop you've been making the other's eat." She grabbed up a whisk and waved it menacingly in Kingsly's direction. "I'm warning you, I know how to use this."

From the sofa, the voice of Agent Timmens broke through Darien's astonishment at the scene he was watching. "She's spunky as hell. Sore, of course, and limping a bit, but that's it." He got to he feet and moved over to Darien. "Hobbes tried to convince her to go back to bed, but she was having none of it. He'll be back in about an hour, had to take care of some things at the office."

Darien shook his head in disbelief as Kingsly relented and offered to help, only to be refused and shooed away. "She's crazy," Darien muttered, completely thrown by 'Chele's quick recovery. "She could barely move yesterday and now..." Darien ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Nah, few years ago my kid sister, who is in her 20's by the way, had her appendix out and she was up and walking couple of hours after the surgery. It wasn't fun and she hurt, but she could do it. The Doc's gunshot wound wasn't much worse from what I heard." Timmens spoke with a calm assurance that spilled over to Darien and let him relax a bit, the panic finally easing. "We're keeping a close eye on her just in case. You should probably go grab a shower, Hobbes said you two have a meeting later this morning."

Darien had groaned as he recalled exactly what had to be done at that _meeting_, it was going to be one of the most difficult tasks he'd faced since accepting a key from a young girl who no longer needed her invisible playmate. "Yeah, I'll do that."

Darien slipped back into the bedroom before 'Chele noticed him and headed for the bathroom to take the fastest shower in his life. After dinner the night before he and Hobbes had taken turns running to their respective homes to pack overnight bags, as they'd be staying at the apartment until 'Chele had been safely delivered to this Agent Corvan sometime tomorrow. He took a few minutes to get his hair to do what he wanted, but didn't bother shaving. His hands weren't quite steady enough to handle the razor and, besides, he knew 'Chele liked his "fuzz." He stepped out of the bathroom still pulling the plain white v-neck t-shirt over his head. Both Kingsly and Timmens were seated at the dining table enjoying monster omelets and fresh brewed coffee.

He gave them a quick nod, then headed straight to the kitchen and Michele. She was working on yet another creation, this one loaded with cheese, ham and onions, so he slipped in behind her, wrapped an arm about her neck and kissed the top of her head. "You shouldn't be up," he admonished.

"I'm fi.... doing okay. Dosed myself with painkiller and did my gimp impression until it kicked in," she countered even as she melted back against him. "You get enough sleep?"

"Uh, huh," Darien answered as she leaned into his gentle hold, making him sigh softly. Damn, he'd missed this, being able to hold her, to be near her. There were few people he was this comfortable with, this tactile with. Bobby might be like a brother to him, but there was still that line that was to never be crossed. They were friends, partners, but there were still secrets that lay between them, differences in opinion and worldview that kept them from being perfectly comfortable with each other. 'Chele had always just accepted him as who he was an no more, and considering all that had happened in the last couple of years he found himself needing that. Needing someone who saw Darien Fawkes the man and not the half-assed federal agent, the receptacle, the annoyance to be taken out by any means possible, or, and perhaps most of all, the invisible man. 

Yeah, there had been times in his life where remaining unseen had been his goal, but now... Well, he might be resigned to the fact that he was the invisible man, but that didn't mean he wanted to be unseen. Getting people to see him for who he was instead of what he could do was a challenge he had yet to meet since coming to the Agency.

After a few minutes she wiggled free to deal with the omelet before it overcooked. With a delicate touch she flipped one side over, slid it out of the pan and onto a waiting plate. "Here," she offered.

"You eat, I'll fix my own in a bit." Darien fetched a mug from one of the cabinets and poured himself a cup of coffee while 'Chele turned off the burner. She slid the plate down the counter to the spot she had plainly staked out and stabbed at it with the fork she wielded. "Truth, how are you _really_ feeling?"

"I'm fine, _really_," she said around a mouthful of egg and filling. Reaching out she grabbed his cup of coffee and took a sip before handing it back to him. "You know me, tougher than I look."

As he watched, one hand slipped up towards her throat to wander about aimlessly for a moment, then fell away; it was then that Darien realized something was missing. "Where's your necklace?"

"Gone." 'Chele met his eyes for an instant, before finding her breakfast far more interesting. "A sacrifice piece." She lifted a hand and wiggled the fingers so that Darien noticed that her usual collection of rings were gone as well. A quick sweep and he realized she currently wore no jewelry, not even earrings, which he knew she had quite a few of given the multiple holes in each ear. "Needed to leave the pretties behind so my ... remains could be identified. Everyone who knows me knows about that ruby." She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Sorry, 'bout that."

Darien shook his head. "Don't be. Hell, maybe I'll steal you another one." That at least earned a chuckle from her, though he could tell she was still upset.

"Oh..." 'Chele reached across the counter to retrieve a manila envelope and dug her hand inside. "I did save this one. It was in with my stuff at the hospital and Hobbes fetched it back for me." She handed it to him and he took it with an odd reluctance, their fingers meeting and brushing along each other for a long moment. The contact wanted by both of them.

"'Chele, I wasn't worried about the watch." He slipped it over his right hand and into place, his poor attempt at disguising the snake tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

"I know, but... it was yours and I forgot to give it back before we headed out yesterday." She poked at the omelet, managing another bite before she spoke again. "It's kinda weird thinking that to the world I'm dead."

"But you're not," Darien pointed out, moving to lean against the counter near her. "Things worked out, Jess is off your tail for now, your... friend is on his way to help and...." He stopped when a frown crossed her features. "What?"

"I was just wondering... who... which of my brothers is coming out to... to..." It was obvious she couldn't say the words aloud.

Darien hadn't wanted to bring this part up, hadn't wanted to burden her with the worry or pain, but here it was, her asking who was coming out to identify her remains, the little bits of bone and personal effects that had survived the explosion. He hadn't even bothered to ask Claire how she was going to alter the DNA of the few pitiful pieces that would be returned to the family enough so that they wouldn't catch the fake. Darien knew that if it were him, he'd stop at nothing to prove it wasn't 'Chele, but not only Claire, but Hobbes had assured Darien the fix was in. "Jake," he finally answered.

'Chele nodded, set down the fork and pushed the plate away, plainly no longer interested in eating. "Makes sense, he was at that conference in L. A. Dare..." her voice broke and he stepped forward to wrap his arms about her.

"It's all right, baby. I understand," he soothed, knowing that his words would do little good.

"I hate hurting them. Hate hurting all my friends at Hollow Brook, hate this whole damn mess I've made." 'Chele sniffled against his chest, her voice unavoidably muffled. "I shoulda just left well enough alone. Shoulda known Jess..."

"Stop it," Darien ordered softly as he pushed her away. "'Don't start second guessing the past, it's over with. We need to save your future'." Darien quoted, knowing exactly how she would react to those words.

One fist came up to hit him without any real force on the shoulder. "Not fair, using my own words against me."

Darien shrugged. "All's fair in love and war, kitten."

She sighed and tipped her head to the side. "Which one is this, I wonder?"

"Well, Jess is definitely war," Darien responded, choosing to stick with what in his opinion was the safer of the two topics. "I may just have to enact some sort of medieval vengeance upon him, provided that's okay with you this time."

'Chele snorted and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. "Have at him, my champion." She suddenly blushed a bright crimson that rivaled the color of her hair and ducked her head down as if totally mortified by what she'd just said. Not that she should be, at least not as far as Darien was concerned.

He tipped her chin up to look her in the eyes, those glorious pools of molten silver, and felt his heart lurch in reaction, thudding painfully hard in his chest. Damn, it had been a very long time since he'd fallen like this, and for once he found himself hoping that there would be no end to it, that he could continue this slow, languorous downward drifting forever. "Chele..."

"Don't," she whispered hoarsely. "Not now." She backed away quickly and, being unfamiliar with the room, smacked her right side into curve of the counter with a hastily stifled yelp of pain. "Crap," she whimpered, her hands balling into fists in an attempt to keep from shouting her obvious discomfort loud enough for the entire building to hear. Seconds later it became obvious she'd managed to do some serious damage, as blood began seeping through the cloth of the shirt she wore.

"Kitten..." Darien didn't want to freak her out or anything so he stayed in place and kept his voice perfectly calm.

"What?" she hissed, her face going pale as the fluorescent lights in the kitchen began to flicker wildly, and Darien _knew_ it wasn't because one of the bulbs was giving up the ghost.

Timmens and Kingsly reacted as if there were an immediate threat, getting to their feet, hands going to their weapons and glancing about warily. "Doc, Fawkes, everything okay in there?"

"Good question," Darien muttered, watching Michele carefully. "Yeah, I think so, just... give us a sec."

But Kingsly was not so easily deterred. "Doc?"

"I..." She gulped for air, her eyes rolling wildly in her obvious fight to regain control. "I'm fine," she finally snapped. The light bulb exploded, causing Darien to flinch from the expected spray of sharp glass shards, but the cheap plastic cover was sturdier than it looked and contained the shrapnel.

Darien rushed to 'Chele as she sagged, just barely catching herself with one hand on the countertop. He couldn't help but notice the corresponding increase of blood flow. "Easy, Michele, you... you're bleeding."

"Marvy," she muttered, her head coming forward to rest against his shoulder. 

Even through the cotton of his shirt he could feel this crazy tingling sensation that was just like what you felt when you grabbed a low voltage wire. It didn't really hurt, but he knew it meant that even with the inhibitor in her system that her powers were very nearly out of control. The refrigerator began to give off an ominous hum that suggested it had become the next target of Michele's wayward abilities. Looking about, he grabbed a dishtowel that was lying on the counter, wadded it up and pressed it against her side.

He wished he knew what had set her off, wanted to tell her about the startling revelation he'd just had, wanted to apologize for whatever he'd done to cause her to run from him with this painful result. "Chele..."

Her head snapped up, and even though already pressed against the counter she managed to pull completely away from him, only his hand pressing the towel to her side remained in place. "Damn it," she snarled. "I'm screwing everything up. I knew I shouldn't have come here. Should have just holed up and held out 'til Mikey could get to me." She whimpered aloud. "I shoulda just stayed away like you tol' me to." 

The hysteria in her voice was easily audible, that hum swiftly became a buzz and the nearby electronic coffeemaker began to do things that he was pretty damn sure were not part of the original design. She was shaking with the effort of trying to keep things under control, trying _too_ hard, as every moment just a bit more slipped out of her grasp.

Darien didn't like the fact she was still second-guessing herself about coming here for help. Hated to hear the pain in her voice that he was certain had nothing to do with the whack she'd given her side and everything to do with him and the life he'd built here without her. Which was something he'd _never_ truly wanted. He'd dealt with life the best he could, kept her involved as much as he dared, and wished damn near daily that he could talk to her face to face for just five minutes. Now, however, was not the time to say any of this. "'Chele, baby, relax," he suggested in a soft voice.

"I'm trying," she growled between clenched teeth even as the garbage disposal came on, the grinding blades sounding menacing in the increasingly tense atmosphere of the kitchen.

Darien knew that she'd been practicing biofeedback and meditation for years. They had even exchanged ideas and techniques on occasion since he'd come to work for the Agency. He dredged through his memory and came up with one of her earliest methods of gaining a relaxed state. "Let's hear the Periodic Table."

She stared at him in astonishment for a second and then nodded tightly, plainly willing to try anything at this point. With a quaver she began, "Helium, atomic number 1. Mass 1.00794 amu. Melting point: 4.009985° Kelvin. Boiling point: 20.280005° Kelvin. Proton and electrons: 1. Neutrons: 0..."

'Chele kept up the litany, going through the elements in order, her eyes closed and hands still fisted. Darien saw Kingsly stick his head into the room and warned him off, concerned that it wouldn't take much to set her off again and worried it could cause something far worse than just making the nearby electronic items do a Linda Blair impression. Careful not to directly touch her, Darien went to his knees, moved the hand towel and lifted her shirt to get a look at the damage only to find it hidden beneath the blood soaked bandage. Instead of removing the bandage, he folded the towel as neatly as he could and pressed it against the wound. Her voice became faint for a few seconds, but she kept going. Still it took until, ironically enough, she reached Mercury before the garbage disposal wound down and the buzzing fridge silenced. When it kicked on, all on its own, an instant later he twitched, half-expecting it to suddenly be walking across the room at him.

"Melting point: 234.28° Kelvin. Boiling point: 629.73° Kelvin. Protons..."

"Michele," Darien tried in a gentle voice.

"Neut... Uh, huh," she responded, her eyes slowly opening.

"Things back under control?" he hesitantly asked, not wanting to set her off again with the question, but needing to know so he could move her.

"I think so," she told him, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "Sorry about that, bub, sometimes when I'm upset it gets away from me."

He wanted to assume that she'd been upset about Jake, but knew that wasn't what had caused her meltdown. Given that she had always been sensitive to his feelings, he was willing to bet she'd picked up on what was going through his mind at the time. He wasn't quite sure how to take that considering exactly what he'd been thinking about. Darien got slowly to his feet as 'Chele took over holding the makeshift pressure bandage to her side, her other hand drifting from his cheek to his shoulder. She refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead one some random spot to his right. "'Chele..."

The front door came open with a rush of air and the bellow of his partner. "Fawkes, what the hell is going on here?"

"Crap," Darien muttered as Hobbes barreled into the kitchen with the Keeper trailing along behind him. "Just a small accident," he looked down at 'Chele who was gazing up at him pleadingly. "She's fine."

Michele gave him a quick smile when he backed away to make room for Claire who was fully intent on getting to her patient. "You call bleeding all over the place fine?" she snarked, the tone sounding very odd with her accent.

"Yes, I do," 'Chele stated, the corner of her mouth lifting up as if she was trying not to laugh.

"Bedroom, now," Claire ordered, one hand pointing the way just in case Michele couldn't remember how to get there.

'Chele sighed dramatically, but did as ordered. Darien noted the limp was fairly slight considering the amount of damage she had probably done. Once they were gone, he turned to meet the thunderous expression on Hobbes' face. "Hobbes..."

"You don't have a single functioning brain cell under that hair, do you?" Hobbes didn't shout, but it was obvious he was holding onto his temper by a very thin thread.

"And what makes you think I did this?" Darien snapped, throwing his hands up only to realize he had blood on them. "Damn it." He stepped over to the sink, turned the hot water on and proceeded to wash 'Chele's blood off for the second time in as many days.

"You're supposed to be protecting her, Fawkes, not doing... whatever it was you were doing and getting her hurt," Hobbes explained as if Darien was completely incapable of intelligent thought.

"Hobbes, stop right there," Darien warned, and he was amazed when it worked. "We were talking, nothing else. She backed up wrong and whacked her side. That's it." While it may have actually been a lot more than that, it was enough of an explanation for Hobbes.

Hobbes shook his head. "Timmens said things were going crazy in here, lights exploding and stuff. Said she sounded upset."

"That's cause she was... is upset. 'Chele asked and I told her Jacob was coming in to identify her remains." Darien shut off the water, scrounged up another hand towel and dried his hands off. "Yeah, I'd say she has every reason to be upset." 

Darien's half-truth worked better than he hoped and Hobbes looked appropriately chastised. "Oh, well then... You know this Jacob?"

"Pretty good, why?" Darien ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the counter.

"Course you do," Hobbes grumbled. "I better do this one alone, then. Can't have you screwing it up by not playing the part right."

Darien was going to protest that he could handle this just fine, but realized Hobbes might be right, that Jake might know him well enough to catch on that he wasn't nearly as upset as he should be. "All right, but he might ask to see me. I'm pretty sure Michele told him I work for Fish and Game."

Hobbes grunted. "We'll deal with that if it happens. You stay outta sight while he's there, got me?" He made it plain he knew Darien intended to eavesdrop on the conversation in order to fill in 'Chele later and Darien didn't bother to argue the point.

Darien nodded, not about to push his luck with his irritated partner. "When's he getting in?"

"About an hour, Eberts arranged transport," Hobbes answered, glancing at his watch. "Too bad Monroe is outta town, I don't like leaving the Doc here without one'a us."

"Hobbes, if Jess has figured out she's alive and here _we_ would not be the reason he didn't try and grab her. And you know it," Darien pointed out in a flat tone.

"No shit, my friend." Hobbes nodded in agreement. "Get your shoes, twinkle-toes, and let's get this over with." 

***

_That wonder of cynicism, Woody Allen, once understated the obvious with, "It is impossible to experience one's death objectively and still carry a tune."_

_Yeah, it's pretty safe to say that when it's your own death, objectivity takes a flying leap right out the window. _

The plain wood door with a tarnished bronze plaque proclaiming it to be room 115 was wide open, revealing the interior of the starkly impersonal office. A couple of desks, several chairs of comfort levels varying from barely to none, and a computer that had been outdated in the Reagan administration with a Catbert doll sitting boldly atop it in defiance of the mandatory sterility of third hand government issue office furniture. Darien wasn't even certain whose office it was, but suspected it belonged to someone from either accounting or data retrieval, as none of the field agents would be likely to recognize the slightly more obscure comic character. 

Darien was watching from across the hall, his Quicksilver coated body unseen by the men within the room, though it was a fair bet that his partner knew exactly where he was since Hobbes had been the one to deliberately leave the door open. Hobbes, who had his game face on; all business, but at the same time conveying that he was not unaware of the full tragic import for the taller man standing before him.

"Dr. MacTierney, I want you to know you have my sincerest condolences," Hobbes stated, his voice filled with sympathy that rang true to even Darien's Quicksilver muffled hearing. "The explosion was rather violent, and I'm afraid..." 

The audible gasp plainly came from Jacob when he laid eyes on the miniscule container that held the little that remained of his younger sister. 

"There wasn't much to recover," Hobbes finished, his voice oddly mournful.

Darien sighed deeply, a painful constriction in his chest as it began to sink in and he understood why just the thought of this had so upset Michele. He found himself surprised at how damn much it bothered him to be hurting Jake like this, that in some ways 'Chele's family had become important to him as more than just _her_ family, but as his own friends. Over the years he'd accepted invites to parties and get-togethers by all three of her brothers regardless of 'Chele being there. Jake and Pat were out on the West Coast several times a year and went out of their way to keep in touch with him. Though Darien had assumed it was only out of politeness, because he was Michele's friend and no more, but now... now he was reevaluating the situation.

"How..." Jake had to stop and clear his throat several times before he could continue. "How can you be certain it... it was Michele?" he asked, a hint of desperate hope still buried in his tone.

"Dr. Keeply ran a DNA test on the... remains." There was the sound of papers being shuffled about. "It came back as a match based on data supplied to us from Hollow Brook."

"It could still be wrong," Jake insisted, not quite yet ready to believe, which made Darien's heart ache for him. 

He shifted a bit to get a better view of the two men in the room. Bobby and Jake stood before the desk where a manila envelope and the metal container that held all that was left of Michele sat, looking lost. Jacob was holding the file, slowly flipping through it one page at a time. Not that there were many pages. They'd come up with a cover story that had nothing to do with the Agency trying to help her flee via a helicopter and instead turned it into an attempted rescue by an old friend who happened to work for Fish and Game. A failed attempt, obviously.

Darien could see that stubbornness on Jake's features, a trait all the MacTierney kids seemed to share.

Hobbes reached down, picked up the envelope and handed it to Jacob. "These were also found."

Jacob opened it, looked at the contents and groaned, a heart-wrenching sound of pure agony. One hand shakily slid inside and removed some of the items from within, a few rings, a random assortment of earrings, the rest irrevocably lost in the explosion, and a necklace: a simple, rough cut ruby pendant.

"Sir?" Hobbes asked worriedly as Jacob paled noticeably even to Darien's silvery vision.

"This was 'Chele's favorite," Jake whispered hoarsely as he held it up. "She wore it all the time."

Hobbes was silent for several minutes to give the obviously grieving man a chance to absorb the awful truth, but eventually he was forced to break the silence. "Doctor, I know this is difficult, but..."

"Yes, these are Michele's," Jake stated, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Hobbes nodded. "I wish we could have done more," he admitted, perfectly feigned guilt in his voice. "If she'd asked for help sooner things might have turned out differently. We _will_ do everything we can to catch those that did this."

Much to Darien's, and Hobbes', surprise Jacob snorted derisively. "Good luck. Jess is a sneaky bastard and'll probably get away with this too."

Hobbes shook off his surprise at Jake's comment quickly. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he asserted, and Darien could hear in his partner's tone that he meant it. That he was going to catch Jess come hell or high water, and Darien found himself touched that Hobbes would do that for him.

Jake's eyes locked with Hobbes' for several seconds, as if searching the shorter man's soul for the truth. Jake eventually broke eye contact and nodded. "Perhaps you will." He placed the items back in the envelope and set it on the desk. Pulling a pen from his coat pocket he signed the release form that would allow him to take 'Chele's things with him and stated that the remains were indeed hers. He set the pages aside and closed the file, intending to take it with him, which had been expected. "Thank you, Agent Hobbes. I _know_ what a thankless task this can be..."

"No need. I only wish we could've done more," Hobbes responded.

"There is one thing..."

"Anything within reason," Hobbes said.

"I understand Darien Fawkes works here; would it be possible for me to speak with him for a moment?" Jacob may have phrased it as a question, but it sounded far more like a demand. Looked like Jake wasn't going to be leaving until he had a little chat with Darien.

Hobbes contemplated the request, and then picked up the phone that sat on the desk. "Let me just check to see if he's free."

"Of course," Jacob agreed amicably enough.

Darien stepped back around the corner and hurried to pull out his cell phone, thankful he'd remembered to set it to vibrate only before this meeting since the musical chime would be easily heard in the office had it still been active. When it buzzed, he answered it with a whispered, "Hobbes?"

Hobbes went into his planned spiel that had little to do with reality, but during the phony one-sided conversation informed Darien to wait five minutes before making his appearance in the office, and to make sure he was doing a damn good imitation of mourning. Darien put the phone back into his jacket pocket and backed down the hallway into the stairwell where he dropped the Quicksilver and did his best to work on attaining a state of numb disbelief that would probably be the best choice for fooling Jacob. It was a fair bet that 'Chele's eldest brother knew that she had been out of direct contact with Darien for the last couple of years, though not why.

He kept an eye on his watch and waited for seven minutes to pass before pushing through the double doors and heading for the office. There was no point, especially in this situation, for messing up his track record at being late. He stopped in the doorway, his shoulders slumped, his hair adjusted to droop down over his forehead, his unshaved chin just adding to the air of sadness he was cultivating. It might have worked just a touch too well as Hobbes' eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of his partner.

"Hobbes, what's up? I wanna get that paperwork done and get outta here," Darien stumbled over the words, sounding as if he were in utter despair.

"Darien." Jacob's voice was steady and his look perfectly in control.

"Jake," Darien said, stepping forward to shake the man's hand. "I'm so sorry."

Hobbes gave Darien a nod and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll give you two a minute." Then left them alone in the office, seemingly confident for the moment in Darien's acting ability.

Once Hobbes was gone Jake shook his head. "Don't be. You tried to help her and I am quite certain you did everything you could. Jess..." He trailed off as if uncertain what exactly to say about the man who had been causing his sister no end of headaches for years.

"You know about Jess?" Darien asked, not sure how much Michele had told her brothers about Jessup and what he had done to her.

"Enough. She warned us about a month ago that something was going down and that it concerned her personal research. She suspected Jess was involved." Jake sagged and took a couple steps back to lean against the desk. "Looks like he won after all," he whispered hoarsely.

"No man, in this one we _all _lost," Darien stated, one hand running through his hair.

Jacob sighed heavily and actually looked every one of his 42 years; much like all the rest of his family, he usually looked a good decade younger than his true age. Those good genes at work. He picked up the envelope and reached inside it to retrieve something. Once he'd set the envelope aside he held the item out to Darien. "I want you to have this."

Darien froze in place when he saw what lay in Jacob's palm. "I can't take that," Darien argued, his throat tight.

Jake grabbed one of Darien's hands and set the necklace in it. "You can, and you will. I know you gave it to her, it's only right that you keep it."

"Jake," Darien tried, but the older man was having none of it.

"Michele is... was a fool," Jacob stated, much to Darien's surprise. "She should have married you years ago."

"No, she had her reasons..." Darien was cut off, again.

"Yes, she did. I know her reasons for not wanting children, but it shouldn't have kept her from finding some happiness." Jacob's hands balled into momentary fists. "_You_ made her happy, Darien, and I believe the two of you could have worked it out somehow." He tipped his head down to stare at the floor. "What a waste."

"Jake..." Darien was shocked when his voice actually broke on the word. He had no idea that her brothers knew he'd asked her to marry him or that they would have approved of said marriage.

"Far as we are concerned you're family, Darien. If you need anything, and I do mean _anything_, you let us know." Jake began gathering up the items on the desk. "I'll contact you with the information for the memorial service." He lifted the small box. "You know, it's ironic..."

"What? What's ironic?" Darien asked, his hand wrapped tightly about the ruby.

Jake laughed bitterly. "She wanted to be cremated."

Darien was saved the need to respond to that by the return of his partner, who had most likely been listening in the entire time and deemed this the best moment to make his reappearance.

"Dr. MacTierney, we've made arrangements for a car whenever you're ready to leave," Hobbes informed him, his voice appropriately subdued.

"Thank you, Agent Hobbes," Jacob responded, then turned back to Darien. "Take care of yourself, Darien."

"I will, Jake." There was this moment of perfect understanding between them that simply reaffirmed everything that Jacob had said, and it was oddly comforting to know that he'd found people who considered him family even with knowing who and what he was. To them, his past, his choices didn't matter, they liked _him_, just as 'Chele always had.

Then Jake was gone and Darien was left standing in the office alone. He opened his hand and stared down at the bit of jewelry that lay within it. The chain and setting were a total loss, half melted into itself, some sections nothing but blobs of white gold that had flowed and cooled at some point. A closer examination revealed that the stone itself, though blackened, was undamaged and could easily be polished back to its former glory. After the events of this morning Darien was struck by a sudden idea and suddenly knew the perfect use for the ruby.

Timing, however, was going to be an issue, but Jacob's comments decided him. He'd waited too damn long already; it was time to do this. His decision made Darien hurried from the office; he had some phone calls to make and some favors to call in.


	26. Chpater 26

***

When Darien left the Harding building he'd been followed, much to his surprise. After spending 10 minutes trying to lose them in the downtown maze Darien decided just to ignore them as he had no plans beyond running a few errands. He did call Hobbes to warn him about his _friends_ and was reminded to avoid the safe house until certain he'd shaken them. Darien just rolled his eyes; he damn well knew what to do by now. He made sure to take his followers on a fun adventure that involved picking up his weekly hair care supplies, perusing clothes at his favorite second hand stores and a trip by a particular pawn shop, the owner of which handled certain _transactions_ on the side.

Darien had to admit the guys were stubborn, but by the time he left the shop with the guarantee the requested work would be done in record time, they were nowhere to be found. Still, he killed another hour as a precaution, and spotted neither the black sedan that had been tailing him, nor anyone else; so, by the most roundabout route he could think of, he headed to the apartment.

The afternoon agents were Franklin and Henderson, who still had his arm in a sling, but had insisted on working according to the rumors floating about the office water cooler. Considering the way he'd refused to leave 'Chele the day before it wasn't all that surprising he was willing to be back onto the job even though injured. Well, that and the fact that the sick leave pay, even for injuries incurred in the line of duty, sucked.

Franklin was standing duty outside the apartment door, everyone on a higher state of alert thanks to Darien's visit by those that were assumed to be in Jess' employ, while Henderson was in the office filling out some paperwork. Hobbes was in the kitchen, slicing a stick of pepperoni and sautéing some ground beef on the stove.

"Calzones?" Darien asked as he ducked into the fridge and came up with a bottle of water.

"You know it. She ain't eaten nearly enough to satisfy the Keep so I'm gonna see if this entices her," Hobbes answered as he stopped slicing and shifted to stir the meat. "You shook your tail?"

"Yeah," Darien assured him. "Ran some errands and must've bored them 'cause they just vanished while I was doing some shopping."

"They followed Jacob's car as well. We put some watchers on the watchers and warned him about it. He's staying at a local hotel while he makes arrangements." Hobbes moved over to an open section of counter and sprinkled flour on it, and then retrieved a towel-covered bowl that proved to have dough in it. "You handled that real well, Fawkes."

The praise was far from faint, as Hobbes had a fair idea of how difficult facing Jake had been for Darien. "Thanks," Darien said with a nod. "Is she still sleeping?"

"Nah, she's on the sofa channel surfing," Hobbes told him. "Keep said if she took it easy she could get up."

"Cool." Darien grinned. "I'm gonna..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Want you outta my kitchen anyway. Don't need you messing things up," Hobbes mock complained.

"Right, Mr. Cordon Bleu." Darien dodged the flour flung in his direction and headed for the living room. He was expecting her to be watching Discovery or maybe Oprah or some dry science channel, and so was quite shocked to hear, '_Who lives in a pineapple under the sea_?' when he stopped behind the sofa. "You watch SpongeBob?" 

"Hey, D. Ummm, don't tell anyone, it would spoil my carefully cultivated image of scientific genius," 'Chele responded with a smile, her eyes never actually leaving the TV screen.

"Wassa matter? You afraid of being human?" Darien shifted around the end of the sofa, carefully lifted her feet and sat down with her toes curling contentedly in his lap. He ran his thumb down her insole and watched as her foot twitched in response. She was wearing a comfortable pair of yoga pants and the matching hooded top as she lay on her left side, back supported by the sofa to keep pressure off her wound. 

"Some days I'm all too human, Dare," she stated softly. "How... how was Jake?" She still didn't turn to face him; her hands curled up under her head as she stared in seeming rapt fascination at the cartoon.

Darien sighed, he should have known she was going to ask. "About as expected."

'Chele turned her head slightly to look at him. "This sucks," she growled emphatically.

"Yeah, it does," Darien agreed, wishing she hadn't been forced into this position, but knowing how she felt. He'd been backed into sucky situations more times than he could count in recent years. "Maybe... maybe if things go well you'll be able to contact them in a few months. Let 'em know the truth."

"Maybe," she mumbled. "This is gonna be such a mess." The volume of the TV suddenly lowered, even though the remote lay on the coffee table. 

Darien leaned forward and set his water bottle down. "Why do you say that?"

"Was it tough on you when you took care of Kevin's stuff?" 'Chele asked.

"You know it," Darien admitted. That had been one of the few things he had detailed in his letters to her, since it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with family. "Though I can't see your brothers putting it off for almost two years."

'Chele chuckled. "No, not them. And me being little miss prepare for everything put my estate through probate already. You will be finding yourself in the possession of several items, including the Dart. She's yours."

"Michele..." Darien hadn't even thought that far ahead. Lawyers, and papers to sign and all the other crap that went with death. He sure as hell had no idea how he was going to make it through her memorial service never mind everything else.

"And though the apartment goes to Patrick, you have free use of it and first option to buy if he chooses to sell." 'Chele sounded as if this was no big deal, as if she were doing nothing more than making plans for their yearly get together instead of discussing the disbursement of all her worldly belongings. "Good thing I set up that rainy day fund of mine. I won't be broke even though I'm dead. How's yours doing?"

Darien snorted. "Rainy day fund? That's long gone, kitten. I don't still live in that one room studio 'cause I like it." He might have a regular paycheck, plus some extra cash due to blackmailing the 'Fish with that whole rental space thing, but he'd not yet built up any _real_ savings. There would be no way in hell he could afford to pay for that apartment of hers, no matter how tempting it might be.

"Long gone, what..." she trailed off, obviously thinking about something, though he had no idea what.

Hobbes appeared then, holding a glass out for her. "Your refill, Doc."

"Bobby," she whined even as she took possession of the glass of what looked like milkshake.

"The Keep said..." 

"I know, I know. Sheesh, you'd think I was a child or something," 'Chele complained with a grumble.

"Just drink it," Hobbes ordered. "I'll be in the office if you need anything. Give you two a chance to catch up."

"Thanks Hobbes," Darien said and meaning it.

With a slow deliberation and a groan of pain, 'Chele pushed herself upright, ending up in the center of the sofa looking pale and tired. She took a moment to gather herself and then downed half the drink with her eyes shut, looking for all the world like a truculent six-year-old forced to take medicine she really didn't like. He half expected her to hold her nose shut while drinking it. "Okay, I am never gonna touch one of those again," she grouched as she set the glass on the coffee table.

"What is that?" Darien asked, picking it up and sniffing it. It seemed harmless, smelling of bananas and pineapple juice if he were any judge. Then he tried it. "Oh, one of Hobbesy's protein shakes. I always thought these were pretty good."

"The first three were, but since Claire has decided I'm almost 20 pounds underweight he's been making me drink one every hour. If he'd just add some tequila or rum I wouldn't complain as much." 'Chele sniped, as Darien surreptitiously checked for Hobbes and then chugged the remains of the drink.

"There, now you're free for another hour." He set the glass back down, and as he leaned back into the sofa 'Chele reached out to grasp his right wrist and drew his hand into her lap. She slid the watchband out of the way and traced her fingers over the emerald green scales of the snake imprinted there.

"So, care to tell me what this was really for? I doubt it's just a bio-monitor like you mentioned in your letters to me." 'Chele lifted her head to look him right in the eyes.

"How much do you know about Kevin's research?" Darien questioned, wanting an idea of where to start.

"Well, as you've guessed by now, I've known about Quicksilver for some time," 'Chele began. "I knew Kev and Pete had this idea for an artificial gland, and that it involved Quicksilver, though from what source, I had no idea. I also know that Kevin didn't really work on it until coming to the Agency. Not that I knew it was the Agency. Kev was..."

"Secretive?" Darien supplied, and Michele nodded in agreement. "You knew more than I did, that's for sure."

"Only because he was willing to discuss some aspects of his work with me. It's weird thinking about it now, but we'd occasionally bounce ideas off one another at conferences and such." She shook her head. "He did it though, he pulled it off. You're living proof."

"Living, that's debatable," Darien muttered. "He didn't exactly have a plan for getting it back out."

'Chele rolled her eyes. "Sounds just like him. Jump right in with both feet and worry about other things, like reversing it, later. One of the traits you two had in common." Her fingers continued to follow the path of the coiled snake, light strokes going around and around while her other hand curled underneath his, tiny in comparison, but more than large enough to hold his.

Though still angry with Kevin for so many things, Darien nodded in reluctant agreement. "Yeah, I guess that's true enough."

"So what went wrong?"

"Aside from Kev getting himself killed?" That came out far sharper than he intended, the guilt of surviving still eating at him to this day. And based on the pained look on Michele's face, she knew what he was thinking about, but chose not to say anything. "Turned out one of the scientists on the project was a terrorist. He made some genetic changes to the gland, which caused a nasty side effect." He tapped the computer chip buried under the skin of his wrist. "This monitored the toxin that was released so I could be given the counteragent before things got ugly."

"A terrorist? Shit, how he'd manage to infiltrate the project? Security was monster on it." 'Chele sounded genuinely shocked at the thought.

"Easily, he apparently knew Kevin. Met at some conference in Geneva or something." Darien shook his head chuckling ruefully. "Swiss Doogie Howser, Kev called him."

'Chele got this look of total shock on her face. "De... de... Damn it, what was his name?"

"De Theil?" Darien supplied, feeling stunned.

"That's it," she snapped her fingers, "Arnaud de Theil."

"You know the son of a bitch?" 

'Chele shook her head. "No, never met him, but I've heard about him. Bit of a megalomaniac from what I understand. Went rogue a few years back..." her voice slowed to a halt. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." he agreed. Deciding a topic change was in order, he tapped her on the nose. "So you wanna hear the whole sordid tale of mystery and intrigue?"

"Everything," 'Chele told him, scooting closer and curling both hands about his.

It took nearly three hours for Darien to give 'Chele the quick version of everything that had happened over the last two and half years, with only the occasional question tossed in by her. Hobbes had served them dinner where they sat, cleaned up when they had finished and added in commentary here and there as he wandered about the apartment checking to make sure things were secure. Typically, he would attempt to correct Darien's interpretation of a particular incident, which would often create a short-lived, but lively debate much to Michele's amusement.

He finally wound down after telling her about the latest fiasco involving Adam. She already knew about him getting back with Casey and how well that had worked out. It was surprising how much that still stung. He'd tried, really tried, been as honest as he could, cleared the air and tried to start over, but that spark, that fire that used to burn between him and Casey had been sadly missing, though he'd done his best to reignite it. 

'Chele grabbed the bottle of water off the coffee table and took a slow drink before saying anything. "I... A cerebral disinhibitor, counteragent. Damn, it's like your worst nightmare come to life." She shook her head gently, the loose curls bouncing about her face. "I want to say I'd wish I'd been there or something equally sappy, but I know it won't change a thing."

"Nope, not a goddamn thing. I do appreciate the thought, though." He took the bottle from her and sipped at it. "You understand why I _didn't_ want you there for it?"

"Yes. Still..."

"Still nothing. I got through it, with your help, whether or not you want to believe it. No more madness," He lifted his hand and flashed the snake that had been all green for nearly a year now, "no more counteragent, and... things are going pretty good."

"So there's nothing you want?" 'Chele asked softly, an odd undertone to her voice that Darien couldn't quite figure out.

"Crap, babe, there's a long list of things I _want_. Up to and including getting Kev's precious project out of my head. However," Here he paused until she had met his eyes, "I can wait."

'Chele took a moment to contemplate his bold statement, his words surprisingly honest. While not precisely happy or completely satisfied with is life, he was more than willing to see where this path led so long as there were good friends by his side.

"Your turn now. I take it that letter from about 18 months ago was you finding the trigger sequence?" That particular letter had been short and to the point. Something along the lines of 'Holy shit, D, I did it' and then nothing for six long weeks.

"Yep, that I did. That first Quicksilver was the weirdest experience in my life, even with some idea of what was going to happen. However, much like with you there were some unexpected side effects." Michele raised her arms over her head and stretched slowly, wincing slightly as she pulled at the stitches he presumed were still in her side. With a groan, she flopped back on the couch to stare at the ceiling for a long moment.

"You all right? Not gonna start bleeding all over the place again, are you?" Darien kept his tone light, and lifted her feet up to rest along his thighs as he turned to sit half cross-legged at the far end.

"Nah, have to do something real stupid to manage that again. Claire didn't even replace the torn stitch, just a butterfly bandage and a lecture," 'Chele answered, sighing as he pressed his thumbs firmly into the arch of her right foot. He was pleasantly surprised to find only a minimal amount of tension in her.

"She's pretty good at those," Darien acknowledged. "We can talk more later if you want. Let you get some rest."

"What? No, I'm fine, just a bit stiff right now. Turned out the trigger for the Quicksilver acted like an additional trigger for my other abilities. They got kicked up in a major way," 'Chele told him with a sigh. "Remember how my neurotransmitter function used to spike and give me monster headaches?"

"Yeah, you've been doing that since we were kids. What does that have to due with... this?" Darien asked as he noted the bright pink of the nail polish on her toes.

"Everything. It's...complicated." She closed her eyes, one hand coming up to rub her forehead. "It used to be I would be able sense all the electronics in this room and not much more. Well, now I can sense _everything_ on the block. Electronics, people, cars, you name it, and I can tell you where it is with a little concentration."

"Damn," Darien muttered. "How do you...sort out all the incoming information?"

"Practice, lots and _lots_ of practice. The energy sensing I'm used to and have been dealing with since I was in my teens. That I can handle for the most part. It's the rest that's been the problem." She laughed lightly and then spoke with irony heavy in her voice. "In some ways the Quicksilver is the easiest of my abilities, and yet it was the most difficult to make functional."

Darien's eyes widened in surprise. "You find Quicksilvering easy? I mean, I'm good, but learning that control was a stone cold bitch. Keying the adrenaline response and then figuring out how to work around it..." He stopped when 'Chele opened her eyes to look at him. "What?"

"Darien, I'm not tied to adrenal response. Well, maybe as a fight or flight reaction, but I just... do it." She held up one hand and as he watched, Quicksilver crawled across her skin, coated it, and once the saturation point was reached, fade from sight. "Much like semi-involuntary muscle movement I don't specifically control what happens."

Darien blinked. "Huh?"

'Chele snickered. "Need to get you back into a bio class there, bub. Its like when you walk; _you_ initiate the sequence, but your brain handles the rest without you needing to send all the individual pieces of data to the nerves, which make the muscles expand and contract, the joints bend and flex. All those tiny movements required to do something as simple as crooking a finger." The Quicksilver fell away from her hand revealing a finger in that very position.

"Well, that's not fair," Darien complained with a hint of a grin.

Michele shrugged. "Depends how you look at it. You stand a chance of having the gland removed. My entire body has been reprogrammed to do this. Even if I hadn't found the trigger sequence, I would still carry the potential for it. I'm a genetic freak."

Darien reacted to her choice of words with a soft gasp and his hands tightening about her foot. "Michele, you're _not_ a freak."

She snorted in derision. "Like hell I'm not." She punctuated this by poking him in the gut with her toes. "You haven't seen my genetic structure. Trust me, the word normal will _never_ be associated with it." When Darien tried to protest she shook her head. "Darien, I accepted the truth a long, _long_ time ago, else I would have spent all these years trying to 'cure' myself instead of seeing if I could tap that unknown potential that was designed into me. But that doesn't make me any less a freak."

Darien knew he would lose this argument, but found himself unable to keep his mouth shut. "Then what does that make me?" he snarled softly.

"A miracle," 'Chele stated with conviction. "Kevin grafted a bio-synthetic gland into your cerebral cortex that secretes an artificial hormone into your system, and not only did you not reject the wetware, you adapted and thrived. Miracle is putting it mildly." She levered herself up onto her elbows. "Do you have any idea of the potential uses for an artificial gland?"

Darien shook his head, not having a clue what she was talking about. For him, the Quicksilver gland had been the end all be all of his existence, that it could be of use to anyone else, for anything else, had never crossed his mind.

"Think, D. A biosynthetic gland that releases insulin into the system for people with diabetes, thyroid gland replacement, hormone replacement therapy for any of a dozen conditions or illnesses. Damn, toss in a few things I've learned over the years and..."

Her excitement was obvious, but he had to stop her before she was overheard and someone mentioned her ideas to the Official, because he would take full advantage of that enthusiasm and use it to his own ends. He glanced about warily, and then leaned forward to set fingers over her mouth. "'Chele, don't. It was following this path that got Kevin killed. I don't... won't let that happen to you."

"Let? Excuse me, but last I checked _you_ did not run my life," 'Chele snapped, yanking her feet away and sitting up quickly. Too quickly based on the grimace of pain and hand shifting to her side. "Damn it," she hissed, and the TV suddenly decided to flip through the channels at a rate far faster than it was designed to.

"Michele," he whispered, freezing in place to keep from causing more trouble.

"What?" She turned her head to see what he was staring at and grumbled, "Bloody hell." She closed her eyes, took a few deep steady breaths, forced herself to relax and release her unintentional hold on the television.

"Side effects, huh?" Darien tried, in hopes of getting the subject back on track.

Michele opened her eyes and tipped her head down to stare at the floor. "Yeah. The inhibitor dulls the signals of my overactive neurotransmitters, but I can override it when necessary or when upset, obviously."

"I'm still not sure I understand why you need it at all." Darien could tell she hadn't forgotten his comment, but was willing to let it slide for now.

"D, I've always needed it. It was part of what I used to relieve the headaches; you know that. Only now I have some idea of what was causing them," 'Chele explained, and Darien waited in silence for her to continue. "My 'spiking' was my empathic ability getting over-enthusiastic. Basically, once I used the Quicksilver trigger I was in a permanent state of high level neurotransmitter activity, and I had no way of controlling it."

"So, what? Instead of picking up emotions of people you knew well, you were picking up everyone nearby?" Darien scratched his head, trying to wrap his mind around what she was telling him.

"Yesterday, what was it you felt?" Her answering a question with a question routine was annoying, but effective.

"I felt pain, but I _heard_ noise. Like static, only incredibly loud." 'Chele was nodding slowly in approval of his poor description. "Wait, you're telling me all of that was other people's emotions? So many that you can't ... hear them any more?"

"Got it in one. You go to the head of the class." She gave him a wan smile. "Near as I've been able to estimate, I pick up everyone and everything within a mile radius. Now, out at my house in Escondido that's not so bad, but here in the middle of downtown San Diego, we're talking thousands of minds and... I can get lost. Very lost."

"What would happen if you didn't get the inhibitor?" Darien asked, afraid that he already knew the answer.

"Catatonia. I'd get lost in my own mind, and if it goes on for too long I'd probably never find my way back," she responded in a cool voice, as if she'd made her peace with that happening to her at some point in time. "I do have the option of becoming a hermit, moving so far away from anyone that I won't ever hear them. Though I do pick up animals, so it would still be tricky. Hmm, South Pole could work. A few crazy scientists and several thousand penguins, that should keep it from getting too bad."

"'Chele, that's not even close to being amusing. You wouldn't enjoy being alone, you're far too much an extrovert," Darien pointed out, hoping she wasn't being serious about running off to become some lonely mountain woman who eschewed all contact with humanity. It would kill her.

"Which is why I created the neural inhibitor. It provides the control factor I need to function." She shifted forward a bit and reached out to set a hand on his knee.

"So you're dependent on this inhibitor for your sanity the same way I was on the counteragent," Darien astutely observed. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen when she began to build up an immunity to the inhibitor, and how long she would have to correct the problem, if it could be. "'Chele..."

Almost as if she knew what he was going to ask, she deflected the not yet formed question and altered the subject. "All right, we've fulfilled the tell portion of tonight's topic, now it's time for the show."

"Show?" He leaned forward slightly so their heads were just a few inches apart. 

"Yeah, show. I know you were Quicksilvered yesterday, but my memory is a bit fuzzy. I'd like to see you," She paused and snickered, "or, rather, _not_ see you again."

"Uh, sure." Darien wasn't sure what she had in mind beyond satisfying her curiosity, but he let the Quicksilver flow and watched as she eyed him critically... as if this was some test of great importance. Once he was gone from sight she reached out and found his arm.

"Hmm, same thermal effect." As he watched, her hand went from grayscale to a blue outline, which meant she'd Quicksilvered it. Lifting his head, he realized she had done her entire body as well. "Interesting," she noted.

"What? What's interesting?" Darien suddenly had the feeling he was about to undergo a series of lab rat like tests from her.

"Oh, this." She picked up his hand and set hers against it so they were palm to palm. "Where our hands meet the Quicksilver merges. I can feel skin, can't you?"

"Well, yeah, but isn't that normal?" Darien let the Quicksilver flake away from all but his hand and forearm, maintaining the contact she seemed to find so unusual. "Every other time I've touched someone who is Quicksilvered it does this."

"And how many times did that involve someone with their own Quicksilver?" she asked as she attempted to drop the Quicksilver the same as he had. Her lack of proficiency was plain, as she was unable to maintain the Quicksilver over her hand the way he'd been able to. It took mere seconds for just her hand to vanish from sight again, the icy chill from his encouraging her to hurry. 

"Uhh..." Darien had to think about that for a minute. His few dealings with Arnaud when permanently Quicksilvered had been short and rather violent, one of which Darien been quite Quicksilvermad, so he was unsure as to whether or not he had experienced a situation like right now. Also there was the fact that Arnaud's gland apparently had not functioned the same way as Darien's.

There had also been Mei-Lin who had her own supply of Quicksilver for that backpack of hers, at least at first, as he could remember her glowing pink even after he had refilled the backpack's tank. Which meant... he wasn't quite sure, other than color seemed to have something to do with _who_ was doing the Quicksilvering. Their one close contact moment that didn't involve a running for their lives situation had used Darien's Quicksilver alone.

"Not nearly enough to judge?" he finally answered. "'Fraid most of the time I was too busy trying not to get killed to take notes. Can you Quicksilver other objects?"

"Yep," 'Chele told him, folding her fingers about his hand. "This is so cool."

"Huh? Why?" Darien leaned in a bit closer, amazed by her utter fascination with this discovery.

"Come on, D, the Quicksilver is being produced by two different sources and by two different means, yet must have the same basic structure in order to merge this way." She brightened dramatically, absolutely loving this new aspect to the Quicksilver. "Do you know the odds of that?"

"Lemme guess, a million to one?" Darien guessed with a grin.

"Hey," 'Chele griped, with a matching smile. "Seriously, Dare, it's sharing cohesion like water droplets, that means the two versions of Quicksilver are nearly identical. If they were too dissimilar they would slide across one another like oil and water." She got this serious look on her face. "Let me try something." 

She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers more firmly about his, her face a mask of deep concentration. "Try wha... What the hell?" The shock in his voice was real, as the Quicksilver about _both_ their hands suddenly flaked away, and he had most certainly not told it to do so.

"Yes, it worked," she crowed as she opened her eyes. After a second Darien's hand vanished again and she pulled hers away to escape the chill. "I did it," she explained. "I was able to use my... 'off switch' to turn yours off temporarily."

"I didn't know you could do that," Darien said in wonder as he let the Quicksilver fall away on his own this time. "Would the reverse work?"

"Probable," 'Chele answered. "Oh, I'm gonna need a sample, run it through some tests, compare the molecular structure. I wonder if Charlie would give me access to Kevin's notes. Or get me a base sample. What serotype adjustments were made to adapt it for human tissue?"

When it looked like Michele wasn't going to run down anytime in the near future Darien reached out and cupped her chin and said one word, "Oreo."

'Chele stopped her random list of tests and thoughts for what she'd like to do with the Quicksilver instantly, and began to laugh. "Sorry, bub, but it _is_ fascinating to think about."

"Yes, I suppose it is for you, but can we save the tests for another day, please?" Darien pleaded. "Come on can't you think of doing anything_ besides_ running tests?"

She contemplated his words seriously for a moment then nodded. "Go to a mall and Quicksilver the pants on cute guys."

Darien goggled, totally thrown by her reply.

"What? So I like to admire a tight ass now and then." Michele grinned irrepressibly and Darien found himself laughing silently.

"A girl after my own heart. Though I'd be admiring females, if that's okay with you?" Darien hooked his hand behind her neck and pulled her closer.

"Hey, I've been known to appreciate the female form now and then," she reminded him, her voice dropping towards the end and her eyes drifting shut as his fingers began to make slow circles on the back of her neck.

Darien didn't even try to fight the sudden urge to kiss her and moved in to brush his lips gently across hers. She stiffened for an instant then relaxed into it and he deepened the kiss, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek, fingers tangling in the loose hairs near her temple. He didn't take it any further, but was inordinately pleased when her mouth opened and she ran her tongue along his lips. With a soft groan he responded in kind and let himself fall, not wanting to ever stop, to freeze this moment, this second, this _now_ and savor it forever.

He felt a sudden rush of desperate longing wash over him and knew it was from Michele, but it was an emotion they shared in common. He couldn't believe he'd been such a fool as to not realize that what he'd felt for her all these years involved a lot more than just friendship, and fully intended to correct that.

"Fawkes... Oh crap,"

'Chele pulled away at the sound of Hobbes' voice and blanched as she stared at Darien in shock.

"Uh, sorry about that, I just..." Hobbes trailed off looking embarrassed, which surprised Darien as he had half expected his partner to play chaperone no matter what he may say to the contrary.

"No prob, we were just... talking," Darien dissembled. "Whatcha need?"

'Chele got slowly to her feet. "I think I better to go lie down for a bit."

As she attempted to slip past Darien he reached out and grasped her wrist lightly. "Kitten, you don't have to," He rubbed the side of her wrist with his thumb. "I want to talk to you about some things."

She shivered and paled a bit more. "D, I'm overdue for my meds and, frankly, I need a nap." She refused to meet his eyes yet again. "Please?" she pleaded softly.

"'Chele... Yeah, I... I'll check on you in a bit, okay?" Darien released her and watched as she nervously pulled her hand out of his reach.

"You want me to call the Keep?" Hobbes asked, concern for her easily evident.

"No need, I can handle this myself," 'Chele assured him, then walked away, closing the bedroom door tightly behind her.

"Shit," Darien grumbled, mostly at himself.

"Sorry about that, pal. I had no idea you would be putting the moves on her..." Hobbes was grinning when Darien cut him off.

"I was not 'putting the moves on her.' It was just a kiss." Darien tried, but his partner was buying none of it.

Hobbes snorted. "Right, she still have her tonsils?"

Darien wanted to be shocked at Hobbes' blatant display of crassness, but, after all this time, Darien was used to it. "Man, you just don't stop do you?" Hobbes continued to smile, completely unrepentant. "No lectures?"

"Nope, you said company pier don't apply and I agree. You two have some unfinished business to deal with," Hobbes stated matter-of-factly.

"Uh, cool. Thanks, I think. Now, what news did you have?" Darien wanted a swift change of subject if at all possible.

"I was gonna see if you two wanted any dessert. I guess neither of you heard me banging about the kitchen for the last half hour." Hobbes circled the sofa and sat down at the far end.

Darien rolled his eyes. "No, safe to say we didn't hear you skulking around and spying on us."

"Skulking? Spying? Me?" Hobbes asked in perfect innocence. "Not for a second there, lover-boy."

"Oh crap, you are never gonna drop this are you?" Darien complained, trying not to laugh. He was glad Bobby knew just the right way to distract him from worrying over why 'Chele had been in such a hurry to get away from him. He glanced down at his watch and shifted it back into its proper position. "Can you hold the fort for a bit, I got something I need to do."

Hobbes frowned. "Now?"

"Yeah, shouldn't take more than an hour though," Darien tried in his best innocent voice.

"All right, but only if you pick up a couple things I want just in case." Hobbes poked a finger in Darien's direction.

"Sure, fine, anything," Darien hastily agreed, relieved he'd be able to get out this easily.

Hobbes got to his feet. "I'll get the list."

Darien groaned, knowing a 'list' meant he'd probably be making a trip to the Agency for items his paranoid partner seemed to think they couldn't do without. He stood and walked over to the bedroom door to check on Michele. She was already curled up and didn't move as he sat down on the edge of the bed. To all appearances she was out like a light. "Sleep, Truth," he murmured as he leaned over to kiss her lightly on the cheek.


	27. Chapter 27

[If you would like to read the NC-17 version, you can do so at TIMA ]

***

Music: _Shame on Me_ by Sister Hazel and _Surrendering_ by Alanis Morissette

There was very little light in the room, since the heavy curtains were closed as a precaution against any potential threat from outside. Though unlikely, it was possible that someone in one of the other tall buildings could look within, _see_ them and then act in a way that would surely turn out to be painful for those trying to remain unnoticed in the small downtown apartment. The door was shut, and the thick rug allowed only minimal light to seep in underneath, which did nothing to illuminate the dark shapes in the room. Not that it really mattered; he'd spent large portions of his life sneaking about darkened rooms for his eyes to adjust quickly, which let him to see more than enough to move about with an easy grace and avoid stumbling over near-invisible objects in the blackness.

The few sounds came from the soft, slow breathing of the person on the bed and the muffled voices of those in the main area of the apartment. Hobbes was going over the pieces of gear that had been brought for use sometime tomorrow. The timetable had yet to be set and he wanted to be able to cover any and every contingency. If it wasn't for the fact his partner had assured Darien that she'd been up just a few minutes before his arrival, he would have been certain she was sound asleep with no hope of waking her until morning. Oh, not that she might wake on her own out of thirst, pain or a half dozen other reasons, but if she were truly asleep then he would not disturb her slumber. But since she _had_ been fully conscious just moments before, he had the feeling this... this faux unconsciousness was nothing more than a ploy, a ruse to try and avoid this conversation that he wanted... _needed_ to have with her.

"'Chele..." It was no more than a breath, a whisper on the air that barely even created a ripple in the heavy silence that enveloped the room like a wet blanket draped over one's face, pressing against one's nose and mouth and making it difficult to breathe.

She didn't move, didn't acknowledge his caressing of her name with his far from steady voice. He tried again, wondering if perhaps he'd been wrong and that she might actually have fallen back to sleep so quickly, her injury demanding blessed unconsciousness in order to better recover. "Truth, I ... we need to talk."

Again there was no response, just the gentle rise and fall of her ribs that he could make out through the gloom. Second, third and even fourth thoughts chased themselves through his mind, but his resolve to do this was still there. Her words, spoken a lifetime ago, echoed in his head (his internal Hobbes snarking about all the empty space between his ears and the potential use of a 'for rent' sign), as they had ever since he picked up that bit of jewelry. It really hit him then that he was going to do this, that there was no going back, much like back when they had been teens and had first taken their relationship into the realm of intimate. "_No more second thoughts_," he whispered aloud.

He moved to the end of the bed and stood there looking down at her, her skin pale against the gloom darkened appearance of her hair; it shocked him how much it looked like drying blood in the dim light. For an instant, he flashed back on that dream of the lake, of her vanishing under the icy cold waters and the spreading blood across the surface. He shook his head to clear away the images; he'd not had that dream the last two nights, but of course he'd been sleeping with her on both occasions. Perhaps it had been nothing more that, a vague premonition of her being shot, as the thick foreboding fear it had previously inspired was now mostly gone. _Mostly_.

"Michele, please," he practically begged, his shoulders slumped and head tipped down to stare forlornly at the neatly tucked covers.

The sound of her breathing stilled for a long instant, to be followed by a deep sigh. "What, Darien?"

'Chele sounded resigned, as if she had known this was coming and had tried to avoid it, to give him an easy out by feigning sleep. But, since he plainly had no intention of taking that out, she was now responding to his increasingly desperate request for attention. "I just want to talk for a minute."

She snorted. "Doubt it'll be just a minute, bub."

"Well, time being relative and all that..." he tossed out, hoping to turn her borderline irritation to something lighter, something that would make this just a bit easier for both of them.

"Oh, you, quoting Einstein at me." She managed a snicker, and rolled slightly to look up at him, her eyes catching the little ambient light in the room and appearing to glow, but when she spoke her voice was serious. "Do we have to do this now?"

Darien shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his discomfort. "Since you're supposed to be leaving tomorrow, I'd say 'now' is about the only chance we have."

If she caught his intentional suggestion that she might not be leaving she chose to ignore it, and slowly levered herself into a sitting position at the head of the bed. "All right," she agreed, and waved a hand at the bedside lamp causing the bulb to flicker to life and add a golden hue to the room.

"Cool trick. The state could've used you last year during those black outs," Darien commented straight-faced.

'Chele tossed one of the pillows at him, which he caught deftly with his left hand, since his right was still in his pocket, wrapped tightly about the small box within. "Sit," she suggested. "I don't feel like craning my head up to look at you right now." 

He tossed the pillow back to her, and she set it across her legs as he sat on the end of the bed, leaving several feet of space between them. Looking at her, right here, right now, his resolve of earlier crumbled and he found himself releasing the box in favor of his key ring. He pulled it from his pocket and began to thumb through the keys: apartment, car, main door of the Harding building, a couple of post office boxes, keys for both 'Chele's house and apartment here in town and ... a ring. He heard her startled gasp and met her eyes.

"You kept it. All these years." She appeared to be completely flabbergasted.

"My good luck charm," he explained. "'A ma vie de coer entier.' You have my whole heart..."

"... for my whole life," she finished. "So you learned some French along the way."

"Enough. I just... it never dawned on me that you _meant_ this. That you could..." he trailed off, unsure how to put what he wanted to say into words.

"That I could what? Feel something beyond friendship for you?" She shook her head. "I always knew you didn't feel the same way about me and accepted it."

"Didn't feel the same? Michele..." He scooted across the bed to sit next to her and reached out to take one of her hands into his own. "You could have told me," he stated, wishing they'd had this discussion years ago, instead of waiting until their lives were so tangled up in other things that it might be too late.

Her sudden laughter was raw and tinged with bitterness. "_Tell_ you? D, I've told you hundreds of times over the years and you... you would just let it drift right past, no impact, no deep meaning, nothing. That's how I know you don't feel the same way." When he tried to protest, she stopped him with a sharp look. "Yes, Darien, I know you love me, but it's far more casual, far more... like the love you feel for Bobby. Only with the occasional sexual romp."

She sounded almost cold to Darien, and it made him want to shiver in the warm room. "'Chele, I'm not sure I understand."

"Of course not, you've spent so much time trying to fall in love that you can't see that it's no different than simply _loving_ someone." Her hands balled into fists, Darien guessed that she felt she was not explaining this in a way he could understand, and the resulting emotional outburst caused the light to flicker.

Darien was struck by an idea then. "Michele, just show me."

"Show you?" The light ceased its erratic change of brightness, and her posture relaxed a bit. "What do you mean?"

"You're an empath, right? _Show me_," he pleaded, wanting to have the footing necessary to make the right choices, and to do that he had to know her perspective on this... on their relationship. "You can do that with the inhibitor, can't you?"

She nodded, still watching him as if in shock. "Are you sure about this? You might... regret knowing and I won't be able to take it back."

"I think it's time I knew, don't you, Truth?" He shifted closer to her and reached out to caress her cheek. Her eyes drifting shut as she leaned into his hand told him all he needed, and he dipped his head to place a lingering kiss upon her lips. He broke away to rest his forehead against hers, one of her hands coming up to curve about his neck as she let out a ragged sigh.

"All right. Try to relax, I don't want to give you more of a headache than necessary," she told him as she began to regulate her own breathing, her body going boneless in his hold.

He followed her lead, clearing his mind out like he did when doing some of his biofeedback exercises. He was still unprepared for her intrusion; the sudden burst of raw emotion across his senses left him reeling with a sudden attack of vertigo. But just as swiftly there was support, and the sensation of falling stopped, to be replaced by a gentle rocking motion, as if he were riding upon a feather drifting on the breeze. There was such joy; such a sense of wonder and happiness that he found himself feeling buoyed up higher than he thought possible. Other emotions flitted past, passion, desire, hurt, jealousy, anger... you name it and it was there, but at the core was this endless feeling of peace. A peace that he _knew_ was inspired by his presence in her life. Somehow, someway she loved him in every sense of the word: as a friend, partner-in-crime or fun, lover, any or all without reservation or demands. It was almost beyond his comprehension even when laid out in detail before him.

She broke the contact then, pulling back out of his mind and leaving him feeling lost for an instant, until he realized that he could still feel her; her presence, her living warmth sitting before him on the bed, his hand still cupping her face. It still took him a couple minutes to bring himself back, to stop savoring those wild emotions she had bestowed upon him, and open his eyes to look at her as she sat there with her head tipped down, her loose hair creating a curtain about her face.

"How long, 'Chele?" he asked as he found his voice.

She blushed bright red; he could feel the heat of her cheek against his palm, and tilted her head up to actually see her. "Since I was 14," she answered at a whisper.

"Fourteen?" he repeated, certain he sounded as stunned as he felt. "But we were just kids."

Michele shrugged, the blush slowly leaving her cheeks. "Didn't seem to make any difference to me. I just..." She shrugged again, not able to explain this time.

Darien made sure explanations were unnecessary. "Marry me."

She didn't even pretend to look surprised by his question. "Darien, you're still getting over Casey and losing Adam. You don't really want this, you just want..."

"You," he insisted. "Yeah, I got burned by Casey... twice. Yeah, I miss Adam, so bad I can't believe how much it hurts, but they have nothing to do with you."

She closed her eyes and shook her head, not listening to his words.

"Don't do that. Don't shut me out." When she did as he asked, he continued, "And don't use your not wanting to have kids as an excuse, either. Thanks to the gland I... I won't be having my own any time in the near future. Another wonderful side effect."

Though he half expected an argument or condolences on his inability to father a child, she surprised him.

"Darien, I _never_ said I didn't want children." The heat returned to her cheeks and she had to look away.

"Huh?" was his intelligent response. "But I thought there was a high risk of deformity or something like that."

"At one time, that was something I was worried about, but after breeding generations of 'improved' rats and running hundreds of simulations, I learned that the risk is nearly non-existent." The comparatively dry scientific turn helped her regain her composure, and she was once again able to meet his eyes.

"So then... what? Why not have kids?" he asked her, feeling confused.

"Aside from not having anyone to... reproduce with?" That caused a tiny embarrassed smile to cross her lips. "There is a near 100 percent chance I'll pass my abilities onto any child I have in some form. Up to and including the Quicksilver. I don't know that I could help them, hell, protect them from bastards like Jess and his ilk. A life hiding and on the run is not one I'd wish on an adult much less an innocent child."

Her logic, as always, was flawless... from her perspective. He slowly worked his way through all of what she had said. She _wanted_ kids, but not alone. Said children could very well end up with all her talents, to be just as wondrous and special as she was, and undoubtedly as intelligent and beautiful as well. "You wouldn't have to do it alone. I can't have been the only one who's asked you to get married." Her slight paling told him that assumption was wrong. "'Chele..."

"Darien, how could I get close enough to anyone for that to happen? How do I explain to someone that I can ... do the things I do? The few people I have gotten close to in the last few years and have experienced my abilities have been terrified. Of me." She laughed bitterly, tears coming to her eyes. "Do you have any idea how that feels? One tiny slip, a shared dream, a blown light bulb and the person you care about backs away in fright."

"Yeah, I _do_ know how that feels." He pulled her into his arms and just held her. "I've never run, 'Chele, and you won't chase me away."

She shuddered in his hold. "Why the hell do you think I love you so damn much?" she all but shouted, only her face pressed against his chest muffling the words enough to not attract the attention of those outside the bedroom.

"Then marry me," he argued.

"I can't," she stated tonelessly.

"You can't or won't?" He didn't want this to turn into a fight. A stupid, idiotic fight over how much they loved each other. "Michele, you remember our first time?"

His change of tack must have thrown her and she pulled away. "Of course."

"Back then your logic for us not maintaining a relationship was that I might find the girl of my dreams at college. Remember?" He cupped her cheeks with both hands and wiped away the tears that had overflowed with his thumbs. "_You_ were the girl of my dreams back then and you still are today. I just didn't know how to tell you, didn't think you would listen or believe me."

"Darien," her voice broke on his name, "I'm leaving tomorrow and you ... now..." She seemed to be flustered, no longer sure of herself, and he found it endearing. He'd actually managed to throw her for once.

"So don't leave. Stay here, with me. We'll work it out somehow. Keep you hidden for the time being. You'll be safe..." Darien stopped when she shook her head, real regret on her features.

"Aside from the fact that Jess'll probably be watching you for months, there's other issues I have to deal with." The look of stubbornness he purposely set on his face plainly said he wasn't going to buy half-truths and partial answers. "I've built up a tolerance to the inhibitor."

Darien didn't let that phase him; it could be dealt with. Between her and Claire they could fix the problem, find a substitute, something. The two of them had more brains than most of the West Coast combined. "All the more reason. I can make some calls. Get a Justice of the Peace here and we can be married in a couple of hours." He couldn't hide the hint of excitement he felt, part of him certain she would say yes this time. "We'll get you access to a lab, computers, whatever you need and you'll fix it."

"Darien, don't you think I've tried? What used to work for two weeks now lasts three or four days at most. I'm swiftly running out of time." 

He felt his heart sink into his stomach at her words. He'd been through this, felt the fear crawling through his body until he very nearly couldn't take it any more, and in the end he'd received his much prayed for miracle. "'Chele..."

"No, Darien, there is no quick fix like there was for you. The way a neural inhibitor works there is no variance, no tweaking, and no adjustments that _can_ be made. It is what it is, no more, no less." Her hands came up to scrub at her face. "I have one choice. Stop using the inhibitor and gain some sort of control without it. I can't do that here. There are too many people, too many _things_," she explained, obviously wanting him to understand, and, this time, he did.

She took pity on him then, sitting silent and brooding over her words. "If you mean this, if you really want to marry me..." She wrapped her far smaller hands about his. "Ask me again in five years," She gave him a shy smile. "I promise I'll answer you."

"Five years?" Darien knew he sounded plaintive, but couldn't stop it. "But I'll be _old_," he complained.

"And I'll be older. So what?" 

"But I... five years apart, I don't want that," Darien told her softly.

"Apart? Do I look like an idiot to you? I fully intend to flit in and out of your life just like always. Now that I know all about the Agency and the gland there's _nothing_ that'll keep me away," she said earnestly. "Provided you want me here, that is." 

"Want you? Forever and always." He felt his heart pound in his chest when she sucked in a breath at his words. For once he was dead serious, and she could tell. "I love you, 'Chele, and while it might not be the same, it's still real. I can wait five years to get married, but only because I'm pretty damn sure I've already got you for life."

"Well, _duh_. Haven't I been saying that for years?" She rolled her eyes and tapped him on the forehead. "Took long enough for it to sink in." Her look softened. "A ma vie de coer entier."

Darien felt his heart begin to pound at triple the speed, knowing that phrase had somehow become her way of telling him _I love you,_ and it affected him in ways just saying the words never had. All these years, why had he never seen the truth? Why had he never listened and actually _heard_ what she was stating? She bared her soul to him every time she uttered the words. It was no wonder she'd never seriously considered his marriage proposals, given the way he'd virtually ignored her proclamations of her feelings. He could feel the bulge of the ring box in his pocket and realized he'd not shown it to her because he still didn't feel worthy of her, thought she could and should look elsewhere, to find someone who wouldn't take about 20 years too long to realize the truth.

Michele broke him out of his reverie. "Umm, is there a problem here?" She had one eyebrow raised and a hint of a smile gracing her lips.

"What?" Darien looked down at himself and noticed the sudden lack of various portions of his torso and appendages. "Crap," he mumbled, far too irritated to be embarrassed.

"'Crap?' I take it this is unintentional then?" Somehow she succeeded in sounding curious and not amused.

"Yeah, that'd be one way to put it," he groused. "Now you know why I haven't been regaling you with my extensive encounters with the opposite sex for the last few years." He glared at his arm, which still refused to reappear. "Why you'd think I'd been scoring like crazy is beyond me."

"Haven't looked in a mirror recently, have you?" she teased. "D, you're a healthy adult male, I would hope to god you're out tomcatting..."

Darien cut her off. "How the hell am I supposed to do that when the moment I get... interested _this_ happens." He waved at himself and groaned in pure frustration as the Quicksilver finally flaked away. "Oh, and let's not forget the fact that the 'Fish is a bit of a stickler about the whole 'top secret' thing, y'know."

'Chele just sat there quietly, watching him, and he guessed that she hadn't caught on to what he was trying to avoid saying directly at all costs. "Kitten, there are some situations where the gland has a mind of its own." She still just watched him, those gorgeous eyes of hers looking so innocent in the muted light of the room. He cleared his throat. "Close contact ones, for instance."

She nodded slowly, his euphemism of choice seeming to do the trick. "So, if I were to offer to say... put on a Little Mermaid costume it could..."

Darien whimpered as far more than just the gland reacted to the mental image conjured up by that suggestion. With her hair, those eyes and that slim body, she'd put that Mira Sorvino fantasy of his to shame.

"... cause a reaction," she finished, eyes widening as Darien felt the Quicksilver creep across his flesh and send his vision to grayscale.

"Damn it, 'Chele," he whined, even though he was somewhat surprised at how easily she could play him.

"Fascinating," she noted in a dry voice. "Sexual stimulation causes involuntary secretion by the gland."

Darien was taken aback by 'Chele's near perfect imitation of an emotionless Vulcan. "Hey, I don't need another Keeper there, Spock." His dismay at her suddenly eyeing him like a prize lab rat was more than enough to make his and the gland's interest in the proceedings vanish in an instant. The Quicksilver flaked away, and 'Chele put out a hand to catch some of the glitter-like residue on her palm.

"Nope, you don't," she agreed, tossing the captured flakes in the air to fall about her like snow. "I just thought you might want to be visible when I did this..." She shifted forward, the cover slipping downward along her thighs to reveal the fact that she wore little more than the pale purple pajama top, and bit him tenderly on the side of the neck.

Darien froze as her tongue moved hotly up to his jaw and back to his ear. "Michele," he got out once he remembered to breathe.

"Yes," she murmured as she paused her nibbling of his earlobe.

He set his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. "Sweet thing, you're hurt. I really don't think this is a good idea." She didn't pout, didn't complain, did nothing but sit back a bit.

"I'd say not all of you agrees with that," she pointed out, glancing down at his right leg, which was currently absent.

"Not the point. Shit, girl, you were shot yesterday, and bleeding like crazy this morning. You may want to do this, but that don't mean you should." He shifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb running across her lips as he resisted the temptation to kiss them.

'Chele settled more comfortably with her legs folded beneath her. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret." She took his hand and set it on her side where he could feel the bandage beneath her clothes. "There are a few beneficial side effects to my abilities."

Darien wanted to pull his hand away, terrified of causing her any more unnecessary pain, but held perfectly still instead. "Like what?"

"Turns out I take after my favorite comic book character to a degree," she told him with a straight face.

'_Favorite comic book character_?' It took Darien a couple minutes of searching his memory to have any idea what she was talking about. "Wolverine? Ain't no way you've grown adamantium claws, sweets. That's fantasy."

"Dare..." She shook her head in dismay. "You need to go to the movies more often. Logan's mutation was near instantaneous healing." When she saw the realization dawn on his features, she nodded. "Now, I'm nowhere near as good as him, but it is useful. I bled like crazy this morning cause the stitch was pulled from a well-healed wound." She let him pull his hand away, unbuttoned the lower half of the shirt and removed the bandage.

Now, he would freely admit that he was no expert in surgical scars or how they looked as they healed. The one he was most familiar with he'd never seen, since it was on the back of his head and he'd slept through the majority of its healing, but there was no way a day old bullet wound could look like _that_. "Damn girl. Does Claire know?"

'Chele nodded. "Yes, she wanted to run tests. I told her _no_. The stitches could probably come out, but we decided to leave them until after I was moved as a precaution."

Darien ran his fingers over the few stitches that showed where they had cut her open in order to remove the bullet, they'd even sewn up the pucker-like circle where it had struck her. There had only been about eight stitches originally, with a butterfly bandage replacing the ones 'Chele had yanked out earlier in the day. There was still some bruising about the area, but it had already faded to that sickly yellow green stage. At a guess, any normal person would take about a week to heal this much, which tied in with her saying the stitches could be removed, as that usually was the case after about a week to 10 days. "How fast?"

"Oh, a third to twice as fast as norm." Her eyes drifted shut as he continued his tentative probing.

"Does it hurt?" he asked as his hand settled on her hip. He tried to remain unaffected by the deep violet of the miniscule panties that she wore or how notice how the color perfectly complimented the pajama top.

"Hell yes, but that's what painkillers are for." She shifted his hand upwards until it rested on her ribs, his thumb just below the curve of her breast. "I promise you if we take it slow there'll be no danger."

"Michele..." Darien balked, even as his thumb moved without his permission to caress the underside of her breast.

"Darien, my love, it will cause me far more pain to _not_ do this." She set a hand on his chest, directly over his heart, and was surely able to feel the rapid beat. "You asked me to show you how I felt, now I'm asking you to show me."

"Show you? I can't... oh. Oh!" Darien felt like an idiot for not understanding what she had meant initially, but then she leaned forward, her weight supported by the hand pressed firmly against him and kissed him.

His hand slipped up to cup that warm curve of flesh, making her gasp softly in response. "Say it again," he requested, wanting to hear her say how she felt, and to _know_ exactly what she meant.

She chuckled, the sound warm and rich to his ears. "I love you, Darien Fawkes."

The words had the effect he hoped for, and evoked an incredibly strong memory of the gift she had bestowed upon him, the emotions rushing back to the surface of his mind and momentarily sweeping him away. There was also a very unexpected reaction; the Quicksilver coming so quickly that he didn't have a chance to even try to stop it. His sight faded to grayscale and 'Chele took on a golden halo.

"Well now... can I hope this is a good sign?" she asked with humor evident in her voice.

"Christ, I hope so," Darien muttered. 

***

Michele finally collapsed on him, her forehead pressed into the curve of his neck, panting in a vain attempt to return air to starved lungs. Darien ran his hands up and down her back, his own breathing still quite labored, but somehow knowing she needed the physical touch to help her reconnect to herself. He blinked when the light level changed, becoming darker and rich with color as the Quicksilver dropped away, leaving them covered in sweat, their bodies noticeably overheated in the now cool room. He could feel the strained rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering of her heart, her presence still in the back of his mind. It was somewhat disconcerting, but not unpleasant, comforting in many ways to know she was right there, a mere thought away if he needed her.

"Kitten, you okay?"

Her head came up slowly, her response as much mental as verbal. "I need a favor from you."

"Anything," Darien responded without hesitation.

"You're brave," she commented, her tone oddly wistful.

"'Chele, what is it?" He could feel her pulling away, fading from his mind, and the loss, even as gentle as it was, left him feeling strangely empty.

"Don't wait for me."

"Don't... What are you talking about?" Darien got a sinking feeling in his gut, certain he'd made an error with his unequivocal statement of 'anything.'

'Chele closed her eyes and sighed softly. "I don't want you using _me_ as an excuse to justify you sitting around your apartment and not going out to have some fun. As an excuse to _not_ meet someone." She kissed him, her lips brushing across his as if it could ease the sting of her words. "You love life far too much to spend it sitting around waiting for it to happen."

"Right, like I don't get enough excitement on the job," he grumbled, the truth of that statement not one she could argue... or so he thought. As usual, she had an irritatingly logical comeback.

"Shit, D, all the _more _reason to. You need to find some normality in all this weirdness," she countered, making far too much sense for his liking. "Do you ever do anything else _but_ work? Go to bars? Parties? Hell, steal candy from babies?"

"Me and Hobbes hang out; Claire too now and then," he answered, even though he failed to mention that personal issues that had come to light in the last few months had greatly reduced his interest in 'hanging out.' "I'll have you know that I've been taking up my larcenous ways again." He was pretty damn proud with the success of his late night escapades, and didn't have a single worry that she'd snitch to Hobbes. "Very successfully, I might add."

She quirked an eyebrow. "So what was it this time? Cash, jewels, plutonium 238?"

Darien shook his head. "Nah, files, computer disks, account books, stuff like that."

"Industrial espionage? Thought you didn't care for pulling jobs like that unless they were for a flat fee? Selling the data often don't pay well enough and blackmail is too risky. Or so you always told me." She sounded justifiably confused.

"Babe, it's proof to get those bastards off the streets." When she frowned he added, "Put 'em in jail where they can't hurt anyone ever again."

"Darien, its just more _work_," she observed, "off the clock is all. I mean, that's fine if it's what you want, but..." She trailed off looking disconcerted.

He drummed the fingers of one hand on her back while he tried to work out how to explain this to her. "I figured out I can't go back. Being a thief... it just don't fit no more. I tried it sweets, robbed a bank and everything and... and it wasn't any fun. This... what I do now, _is_."

'Chele nodded slowly, as if needing to fully absorb his words before complete understanding could be made. "All right, so long as you're happy, which brings me back to my point."

"Damn it, 'Chele, I finally figure out I want you in my life, am willing to make a commitment to you, to _us,_ and you want me to toss it away?" He dropped his hands to the bed in total anger. Maybe things, maybe _they_ had changed too much for this to work.

"You dork," she snapped, grabbed his wrists, forced them above his head and held them there.

"Dork? What now?" He struggled to get free, but he quickly gave it up as a useless effort; her position gave her more than enough leverage to keep him in place for the moment.

"The 'commitment' that's important to me you made a long time ago and have never walked away from." His blank look only seemed to irritate her more. "All those brains going to waste just to support that hair," she complained. "Friendship, you idiot. Anything else is just gravy."

"Hey, not nice," he grouched, but he couldn't help but see her point. If their friendship had lasted this long, it wasn't likely to fall apart ever, no matter what may happen.

"Promise me you won't wait, that you'll try and live a little, please?" she pleaded, doing her best imitation of his mournful puppy dog eyes.

"What if I meet someone else? Maybe even ask 'em to marry me?" he countered, sure it would get her to change her mind, but to no avail.

"Then I hope you'll be happy and remember to invite me to the wedding. Now, promise me." She was insistent this time.

"'Chele," he whined, taking his turn doing the whipped puppy look that always worked on Claire, Hobbes and even on rare occasions, Monroe.

"Promise me, Darien."

"You just ain't gonna let this go, are you? Even if I do promise you, what makes you think I'll keep it. You won't be here to check up on me." Her eyes narrowed and he grinned in triumph.

"Because you have always done you best to honor any promise you made to me," she stated in a cool voice. "Promise me."

He found himself growing increasingly angry, and snapped, "Fine. I promise. Satisfied?" 

Fully expecting her acceptance, he almost didn't catch her quiet, "No."

"No? Why the hell not?" Darien questioned in surprise.

"Jeeze, Dare, you lie worse than I do. Please, Darien, this is important to me. I do not want to be the one holding you back or keeping you from happiness. I may be gone six months or more before we see each other again, and even then I may not be able to stay for any great length of time." She closed her eyes for a moment, her grip shifting from his wrists to his hands, the hold extremely light, as if afraid of being turned away. "Promise me."

He closed his hands about hers as it began to finally sink in that she _meant_ this, the same way she had years ago when he was heading off to college for the first time. That she was not going to back down no matter what he might say, how he might argue, beg or plead. Another memory flashed through his mind then, of the two of them in the hammock on the day of his uncle's funeral, and him finding himself jealous because she'd said she was in love with someone. It had taken until this moment for him to realize that she'd been talking about him, and he felt like a total fool for missing so many opportunities with her over the years. Even if they hadn't gotten married, they could have moved in together, been with each other, perhaps changed a few things in their lives for the better... With a muttered curse at himself, he left the 'what ifs' alone and focused on the present, and the woman wearing the tired and frightened look who waited for his answer.

Darien knew he loved her, loved her enough to want to make that leap of faith and commit to her. The real question was, was he willing to step back, savor what they had and wait for the time to be right like she was asking of him. That was the rub: the time had never been right for them, always drifting close but never quite finding themselves in the same place at the same time. For all that he didn't like it, he knew that if it was _supposed to be_, right now, right at this moment, it would be. But, as she was being forced to point out, it wasn't, and, though he didn't like it, he knew could accept it.

He took a deep breath and released it raggedly, knowing he was going to acquiesce, to do his best to live up to her request, and know that as he did so he'd be making her happy. For he was just beginning to realize _his_ happiness was what made her happy, even if it meant she was without him in her life. He would always have her friendship, her love, no matter what might come to pass, and somehow he knew that would be enough. He freed himself from her hands, grasped her about the waist and rolled both of them, mindful of her injury, until she lay beneath him.

"I promise."

She cupped his face with both hands and simply said, "Thank you."

"Anything for you," he reiterated, meaning it this time. "Tell me again."

Sensing his need to be sure of her feelings for him she kissed him lightly and proclaimed softly, "I love you."

"Cool," was his gleeful response, and he proceeded to do his best to show her that he felt exactly the same about her.


	28. Chapter 28

***

_So many people have come into my life, only to be torn out of it again, that I was beginning to come to expect it. The one constant, the one person who had always been there was Michele, and now, willingly or not, it was looking like she was going to be leaving me behind as well._

_Some smartass, with far more eloquence than I could ever manage, said, "It's weird... You know the end of something great is coming, but you want to hold on, just for one more second...just so it can hurt a little more... because that's all you have."_

_I hate good-byes._

Darien wasn't sure of the time, only that it must be after dawn based on the light oozing in around the curtains. Early, he suspected, given his reluctance to wake up any further, but he wasn't overly surprised when a soft knock on the bedroom door was followed by his partner poking his head into the room.

"Fawkes," Hobbes hissed at a stage whisper.

"Yeah?" Darien responded, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. Not that he minded the loss for one instant.

"We got word and need to get moving soon."

Darien couldn't decide if Hobbes sounded amused or regretful for having disturbed them. Evidence, in the form of pieces of clothing strewn all over the room, made it clear what he and 'Chele had spent the overnight hours doing. "Be out in a few, 'kay?" Darien mumbled around a yawn.

"Thirty minutes, my friend, can't afford no more," Hobbes insisted, followed by the door clicking shut a second later.

With a sigh, Darien wrapped his arms tighter about Michele, who was curled against him on her left side with her face pressed against his chest. He kissed her on the top of her head, breathing in the scent that was a mingling of both of them. His scent as heavy upon her as hers was sure to be upon him.

"Kitten, I hate to do this..." Hate was putting it mildly, if he had his way they'd be spending the next several weeks in bed, venturing out only when needs demanded it. He didn't want to let go, wanted to hold on now and forever, never mind the unfeasibility of it.

"I know," she stated, her breath warm across his skin. "Just... 15 minutes, please?"

"You got it, 'Chele." It was the easiest request to fill of any he'd received in recent memory. Their legs were tangled together, his arms wrapped about her tiny body while hers were tucked up under her chin, the fingers of one hand making slow circles on his skin. She heaved a single huge sigh, the only emotional sign that she seemed to be willing to allow herself right now.

He hated this, hated the fact that after everything, after finally getting it straight, finally knowing this was where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with, that she _had_ to leave and that he would let her go. His mind caught on that one. Though he had promised to not wait for her while she was gone, that promise would be invalidated if they were still together. Admittedly, they couldn't be together here, but...

"'Chele, I could go with you," he suggested, the idea striking him as a reasonable compromise for the situation. "The 'Fish obviously has an interest in protecting you; he could assign me and Hobbes as your security or bodyguards temporarily."

Michele wiggled free of his arms and propped her head up to put them on a more even level. "Even if Charlie were willing to give you up for a while, it wouldn't work. D, you'd be a distraction at a time when I won't be able to afford any, and you'd be bored out of your mind."

Darien seriously thought about that, especially since he had no idea what her learning to control her abilities would entail. "I'm pretty sure I could handle the boredom, sweets. I do have more than a few hobbies that could keep me busy, y'know." He lifted a hand to play with the loose curls that framed her face; hobbies were something he'd become a master at collecting since becoming the not-so-proud owner of one 17 million-dollar invisibility gland.

"Darien... Would you be happy? Spending all day doing little more than waiting for something... anything to happen?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't be enough for you even with me as a consolation prize, and I would be far less worried about you knowing you were still here making the world a safer place for _everyone_ and not just me." Her gaze became startlingly serious. "I wasn't kidding when I said what you were doing was important." She grasped his hand and kissed the palm.

"'Chele..." He was getting tired of her being all logical at him and so damnably correct. "I'm gonna miss you, kitten."

"Yeah, well, we're both used to that by now. It won't be forever, Dare." She gave his hand a squeeze.

"But what if... something happens to you? How will I know?" Darien couldn't stop himself from voicing the potential worse case scenario. He'd lost too many people in recent years to not consider it.

"In the event something were to happen to me, Agent Corvan will get in touch with you," 'Chele assured him.

"You trust this guy?" Darien didn't bother to hide the hint of uncertainty, after everything he'd been through reserving trust was a necessity.

"As much as I trust you, Darien," she said seriously. "That good enough for you?"

"It'll have to be."

***

The Official had come through yet again, even after having the last borrowed vehicle blow up unexpectedly, which had made Hobbes comment that keeping the Doc around might not be a bad idea if the Chief were willing to keep providing nifty toys for her. Darien pointed out the fact that the first three cars they'd been forced to endure while driving all over the damn county to throw off any possibility of being followed had all been heaps that had made Golda look like a prize thoroughbred in comparison. All of this had simply caused Michele to laugh, which may have been Hobbes' ultimate intent, as the tension had been thick enough to slice at that point.

So, they were currently ensconced in the back of a classy black limousine that they'd picked up down in Chula Vista. Hobbes sat facing the rear of the car; watching out the rear window on the off chance anyone had managed to tail them this far. Timmens was behind the wheel with a heavily armed Kingsly sitting beside him; both men had volunteered for driving duty, which was usually considered one of the more boring jobs at the Agency, right up there with stake-outs. Michele, without ever intending to, had earned the respect of the men assigned to protect her, and she didn't even seem to realize it.

Bobby checked his weapon, and then adjusted the dark sunglasses he wore yet again, a habit Darien knew signaled his partner's paranoid wariness. Not necessarily a bad thing in this situation. They'd lost the tail sometime after the second car change and, of course, that had Hobbes worried though he'd made a point of saying nothing aloud, but Darien could see it. Bobby would not relax until 'Chele had been safely delivered to this Agent Corvan, and even then he might very well annoy Eberts to discover that confirmation of them arriving at the secret location had been received.

Darien watched as Hobbes went through his routine of glancing out the windows and then once again settled his gaze upon the clasped hands of Darien and 'Chele where they lay atop his thigh, but the expected commentary still failed to occur. In fact, conversation had been sadly lacking for the last 90 minutes, ratcheting the tension right back up to a nearly intolerable level in the close confines of the limo.

'Chele sat quietly next to Darien, their arms just barely touching, seemingly confident that his plan would work without the intrusion of Murphy this time.

Hobbes cleared his throat. "So, Fawkes, you ever meet this Corvan?" He tried to sound casual, but after all the surprises of the last few days there was a definite hint of... something behind the words.

It was, however, Michele who answered, "No, Darien has never met _Agent Corvan_." 

The emphasis on the man's name was unmistakable, but Darien had no idea what it meant and turned to look at her. It was good thing he held her hand, for the blank look on her face gave nothing away, while at the same time he got a feeling of 'go with it' prodding at the back of his mind. He ran his thumb along the side of her hand to acknowledge that he'd received her unspoken request.

"She's right, never met him. Never even heard of him 'til three days ago. Must be a friend of her brother's." A reasonable supposition on his part, since he knew Michael worked for the government, CIA the last time he checked. Darien figured this Corvan was one of Mike's friends that 'Chele could contact when her twin wasn't available. "Why?"

Hobbes grunted softly. "Did some research on him. He's..." He paused, and though he didn't move, it was obvious that his focus had switched to Michele.

"He's what?" Darien prompted. "French?" He was trying to add some levity to the situation and, thankfully, it worked.

"No," Hobbes said around a chuckle. "Most of his file is sealed and what isn't, is some of the most impressive work I've seen in my career and that includes Monroe's," he explained. "Makes a person wonder how _you_," The word was aimed at 'Chele, "know the guy."

She shrugged. "I've made my share of contacts over the years." It was clear she was not going to give up anything else.

Hobbes eyed Darien over the top of his glasses. "Taught her more than just cracking safes, did you?"

"Years of mutual corruption, my friend," Darien confirmed with a grin.

'Chele nudged him with her shoulder. "Which I expect to continue, bub," she commented in all seriousness. "I hope to pick your brain in order to improve my Quicksilvering skill. My fine control isn't anywhere near as good as yours," she told Darien directly, ignoring the way Hobbes shook his head in obvious dismay.

"Hobbes, she knows," Darien informed his disbelieving partner. 'Chele tipped her head up to gaze calmly at him with a sad smile. "And so do I." With the voicing of those words, he finally allowed the reality of the situation to fully sink in. Part of him had been denying the truth all along, the faint hope that there was some sort of way out of this insisting on making itself heard even when presented with all the facts, all the evidence.

'Chele was leaving, going into hiding; they'd even 'killed' her in hopes of muddying the trail for just long enough to allow her to get somewhere safer. She was being forced into the very situation she had pointedly said she wouldn't wish on _anyone_ and yet, here she was walking into it without a complaint. He knew she would never be safe until Jess and his employers were dealt with, and even then she wouldn't really be _safe_. Darien could just imagine what Stark and his looney toons friends would do with Michele, or the MSS or even worse... Arnaud.

It was obvious she had realized all of this long before she had requested help from the Official, while Darien was only just now getting it. A day late and a dollar short as usual. "Yeah, she knows," Darien repeated somberly.

Hobbes' gaze wandered from Darien to Michele, then he nodded slowly. "I can tell."

Kingsly spoke up then, half-turning to face the threesome in the rear of the car as the interior divider slid downward. "We've arrived at the rendezvous point."

Hobbes glanced at his watch. "Right on time," he observed. "Far end of the runway, like requested."

Less than five minutes later, the car was parked at the pre-arranged location with both Darien and Bobby leaning back against the passenger side of the car awaiting the arrival of the mysterious Agent Corvan. Darien was not liking the set-up at all, though it was the smaller Montgomery Field north of downtown, it was still surrounded on all sides by buildings - both residential and industrial. Hell, I-163 was spitting distance away and still heavy with traffic, even though it was well past the usual rush hour.

Darien turned slightly as the tinted front passenger window lowered to reveal Kingsly, one hand wrapped firmly about the barrel of the M-16 and the other pointing down the far end of the runway. "There she is. We got confirmation on the radio as well." The small speck in the pale blue sky was swiftly growing larger.

"Good." Hobbes' seemingly relaxed demeanor was all a front, Darien could tell. His partner was wound tighter than a drum, and ready to go off at the first hint of trouble.

The plane quickly resolved itself into a sleek private jet, like those used by the rich and powerful. Even to Darien's untrained ears, the machine sounded powerful as it landed smoothly and taxied towards their position. It was a slick-looking piece of machinery done in an uncharacteristic shade of black. He thought he could make out an emblem near the front of the plane, but it had been painted over, making it impossible to decipher.

The door popped open as soon as it came to a full stop and a set of stairs unfolded, followed by a matched pair of agents in the mandatory black suits and dark glasses.

"Agent Hobbes?" the one on the left queried in an authoritative tone.

"Maybe. Who wants to know?" Hobbes responded challengingly.

The man chose not to respond in the same manner, his inflection not changing in the slightest. "Agent Hobbes, it is our understanding that you have a package for us."

Darien was learning to seriously dislike the euphemism _package_ in ways he never thought possible. Michele was not just some inanimate object, some generic bit of data they were here to collect. She was a person, a warm living, loving person who deserved far better than to be treated like a _thing_. Based on the undertone in Hobbes' reply, he was thinking along the same lines.

"We're to deliver... it to Agent Corvan and no one else," Hobbes insisted, one hand moving to rest atop the butt of his gun. Not precisely a threat, Darien knew, but definitely a warning.

"That you are," a new voice agreed from the doorway of the plane.

Darien's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the imposing man straightening at the top of the steps. He was wearing a near-identical suit and glasses to the other agents, but he radiated a _presence _that could not be denied. This, however, was not what left Darien momentarily frozen in surprise; it was the fact that he _knew_ the man. His appearance had changed little since the last time they'd met in person; the same close-cropped near-black hair, same deceptively slim build that, though similar, was bulkier than Darien's own. The same youthful good looks that shared a subtle similarity to the woman sitting in the limousine that only those very familiar with the family would recognize.

Now, Darien understood why 'Chele had asserted that he didn't know _Agent Corvan,_ as he knew the man as Michael MacTierney, Michele's twin brother. This Corvan must be an alias that he worked under in order to distance himself and his work from the family, a not too uncommon happenstance in the spook business.

As Corvan reached the bottom of the stairs, he removed the glasses to reveal the distinctive eye coloring that Darien remembered. One eye was hazel, with brilliant green and gold striations buried within it and the other half-blue and half-green divided vertically just left of center, a feature that made him as memorable as 'Chele's vivid red hair. One of the older agent's eyebrows quirked upwards, the only acknowledgment that he remembered exactly who Darien was.

"Agents Fawkes and Hobbes," Corvan intoned with a nod towards each. "Time is of the essence, so if you would..." He gestured at the car in an obvious request to hurry this along.

"Not so fast," Hobbes growled, not yet ready to let Michele go with this stranger without some more proof, or so Darien assumed.

"Hobbes..." Darien set a hand on his friend's shoulder, touched at his unwavering defense of 'Chele yet again. "He's legit."

Bobby gave Darien the once over, as if wondering what he knew or saw that convinced him, but then the cautious agent relaxed ever so slightly in acquiescence. Hobbes shifted, opened the rear passenger door and held out a hand, which was taken by 'Chele who stood as he backed away.

Timmens had gotten out of the car and moved to the trunk to retrieve her assorted bags, which he carried over to the blank-faced agents, who marched them up the stairs and into the plane.

"Mikas," 'Chele said with a tip of her head.

"Doctor," Corvan returned, showing only minimal recognition of the fact that it was his twin sister standing before him.

Darien stared down at the dusty tarmac between his shoes, not wanting to watch 'Chele just walk out of his life, so he was surprised when her earnest features appeared in his line of sight. "Michele," he breathed, the syllables of her name catching in his throat. He wasn't sure he could do this, could actually face her and say 'good-bye.'

"No good-byes," 'Chele told him as she took both his hands into hers. He could feel the tightly rolled piece of paper that she pressed against his right palm. "I _will_ be back, you got me?"

He closed his hands more tightly about hers and swallowed with some difficulty; this was turning out to be even harder than he'd thought. Saying good-by to Kate had been easy in comparison, watching Adam do the bravest thing in his young life was ranking as a near-tie, however. It was just that... letting go had never been something he'd been very good at, which was why for so many years he'd refrained from making any close friends. Never making attachments beyond those he'd already accumulated, fences, lifting buddies, contacts, people who had as much interest in remaining uninvolved as he did. The few real friendships he'd held onto he treasured, and the new ones he'd made were priceless. He was willing to give up none of them.

Instead of the half-dozen emotionally charged statements he wanted to say he simply said, "Take care, 'Chele."

"I will," she assured him as she went to her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss, then she whispered in his ear, "Safe, just like I promised you." She slid her hand away and closed his about the piece of paper and then stepped back from him, still holding his other hand.

She turned to Bobby. "Watch his back for him, would you?" she requested softly.

"I will, Doc. Now get moving before these mooks start getting cranky." He nodded at the plane and the agents waiting for her to finish her farewells.

She sighed dramatically. "I suppose." She gave Darien's hand a last squeeze, a wordless wave of love tinged with regret washing across his senses, only to be cut off when she let go. Her eyes glowed brightly when she met his, then she straightened her shoulders and turned away. With a calm assurance wrapped about her she walked to the plane, greeted her brother with a handshake and then mounted the steps without a backward glance.

Darien stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched as the stairs retracted and the door sealed shut, the engines already revving in preparation for take-off. He half-expected Hobbes to suggest they get moving now that their part in this drama was complete, but he just stood there with his arms folded across his chest as the jet began moving, turning about and taxiing into position for a swift leave-taking. Neither man said a word until the plane had launched itself into the sky and vanished in the distance.

Hobbes cleared his throat. "You settle things between the two of you?"

Darien shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Then why the Dear John letter?" Hobbes asked blandly.

"The what?" Darien was good and confused.

"The note she slipped you," Hobbes pointed out. "Shame though. I didn't think she was the type to do that."

Darien rolled his eyes, fished the paper out of his pocket where he'd shoved it and unfolded it. Bobby tried to sneak a peek, but Darien set a hand atop the shorter man's head and held him arm's length away as he read the little that was there. First was an emphatic and heavily underlined 'Call me!' followed by a phone number that he recognized as one of her secure lines that was under a different name, and she used when keeping her anonymity was of importance. The second was a long string of numbers and letters, a web address and what he guessed was a password. He stared at the information for several minutes, trying to puzzle out just what the hell it was. It was remembering her whispered words that gave him the clue he needed.

"Crap," he muttered softly as realization sank in. It had to be the money from that last job, she must have cashed the bonds, made a deposit into some offshore account and been watching it for him all this time. He had to wonder how many times she had sent the information to him over the years only to have it intercepted by the Official, which would explain Michele's confusion about his rainy day money to have dried up over the last few years. She'd kept her word... just like always.

"Fawkes?" Hobbes sounded concerned, as if ready to console a broken hearted friend.

"It's _not_ a Dear John letter, Hobbes," Darien told him as he refolded the paper and stuffed it back into his pocket.

"No? Then what?" Hobbes asked in curiosity.

Darien lifted his head to gaze at the cloudless bold blue sky above them. "Oh, just... something for a rainy day."


	29. Epilogue

* * *

Epilogue

The hum of the Zippy Cola fridge, which was providing the minimal illumination for his apartment, kicking on confirmed to Darien that he was indeed awake and in his bed. He glanced about the place, noting that everything seemed to be the way he remembered it. Pool table, currently playing host to several cartons, sofa with his jacket tossed carelessly over the back, comparatively sterile entertainment center with its assorted red and green LEDs blinking into the dimly lit room. The high counter and bar stools beneath it, one with yet another jacket of his draped across it. There seemed to be nothing to account for his sudden feeling that things were out of place and off-kilter.

He stretched, intending to do nothing more than roll over and go back to sleep when his hand unexpectedly encountered ... someone in his bed. He couldn't recall having brought anyone home... but the dream he'd awoken from still lay heavy on his mind and he made a tentative guess as to whom he was sharing bed space with. "'Chele?"

"'Chele?" a hoarse voice responded, sounding as confused as he felt. "Why are you calling me that?"

"Alyx?" Darien tried, quite literally unsure of which reality was the true one at the moment.

"In the flesh." She rolled and kissed him lightly on the shoulder. "Must have been one hell of a dream, bub."

Darien scrubbed a hand across his face, the similarities between the woman in his dream and the real one lying here beside him just enough to keep him off balance. "Yeah, you could say that."

"A Quicksilver dream?" Alyx asked as she slowly shifted to sit partially upright against the headboard.

"No," he assured her, rolling to drape one arm across her waist. "In fact, it was about us."

"Us? And how is that _not_ a Quicksilver dream?" she queried with a hint of worry that he could hear.

"It just wasn't," he explained poorly. "Did... did you ever wonder how different your life might have been if you'd called me after we'd met that first time as kids?" Darien would admit that he'd never thought about it. He could only vaguely remember receiving the thank you card she'd sent him that was because his aunt and uncle had made such a huge production number out of it. That, along with Kevin's not-so-subtle teasing, had ultimately led Darien to ignoring the card and the girl who sent it even though she'd provided her phone number.

Alyx contemplated the question seriously before answering. "Once I remembered that we'd met, yeah, of course I wondered, but it doesn't really change anything, does it? We're here, aren't we?"

"I dunno. I still ended up working for the Agency with the gland, but... the madness had been cured." Darien wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, his sleeping mind conjuring up something that so far had been impossible in the real world. Not for lack of trying, but finding the key to the madness and reversing it had proved to be difficult at best. Even Claire was certain it would require years of research and testing before there was even the slightest chance she'd located the right gene sequence. But that was all right. Darien glanced down at the tattoo adorning the inside of his right wrist and noted the two red segments. While not a cure, the inhibitor Alyx had helped to create had done a great deal to ease his fear of the madness_ and_ had, by some miracle, provided the key to removing the gland, which was something that seemed to be unfeasible in that dream reality. One day, when he was ready, he would go through with it and be free of the gland and all the responsibility it entailed.

"Cured the madness?" How? Who?" Alyx managed to contain her excitement, though just barely in Darien's opinion.

"How? Something about a suicide gene and who was... Arnaud," Darien growled the name, anger coloring the word.

Alyx snorted in derision. "Arnaud? Can't see any cure from that bastard having a happy ending. Probably just do more damage." The quaver in her voice frightened Darien and he wished he'd not brought the subject up. She shivered for a minute and then spoke up again, "What about me?"

He could hear that her enthusiasm was forced, but gave her a smile as he answered. "You? You went to Cal-Tech with Kevin, earned a couple of PhDs, and worked for a private research lab. You also found the Phase II trigger on your own."

Alyx stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief for a few seconds, then burst out in weak laughter. "Right. You have quite an imagination there, bucko."

He shook his head with a grin and proceeded to detail parts of the dream; gave her a taste of all he had experienced while asleep for just a few short hours. She sat there quietly, her fingers running through his hair in that way he loved and just listened, allowing him to vocalize the images from his mind before they faded and became little more than faint sepia toned memories. Storing them for him in that incredible mind of hers that would never forget what he told her here and now. It took most of an hour to touch upon the barest outline of the entire _life_ his sleeping mind had revealed to him.

She remained silent when he finished, and he lifted his head to see her watching him, her look almost sad. "'Chele, you okay?" One of her eyebrows rose up and he instantly realized his mistake. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Alyx cupped his chin with one hand. "Just... be careful with it." She tipped her head down, smiling shyly. "I like hearing you say my real name, Dare." She gave him a quick kiss and then slipped from beneath him to stand shakily next to the bed.

"Alyx?" he asked in concern, she'd only been up and about for a couple days, and this was her first night home.

"Just need to use the bathroom," she told him.

"Want help?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I think I can make it the 10 feet across the room and back on my own. I'm stronger than I look," she asserted.

Darien ran a hand along her forearm. "I know." He released her and watched as she made her way across the room with a painful slowness. He rolled onto his back and waited for the light to appear under the edge of the bathroom door before sighing deeply. He knew what had caused the dream; him and his 'what ifs,' his continued second guessing of his choices, his decisions during this entire mess.

What if they hadn't cornered Arnaud when they had? What if they hadn't gotten the antidote to Alyx in time? Hell, what if they'd just been paying more attention to begin with and prevented the entire mess from ever happening?

Alyx was slowly recovering from her injuries; her ankle still gave her problems though her wrist had healed well-enough, even if it had taken longer than expected. The bruising had long since faded from her skin, but not yet from memory. Her body was finally regaining strength after the poison-induced coma, but her mind, her heart were still battered and torn. The emotional wounds still raw and seeping blood and would continue to do so until she took the time to actually face what had happened and what she had done... what had been done to her.

In truth, Darien had yet to really sit down and deal with it, to look at everything that had transpired for good or ill, and let the emotional storm he knew was building find its much needed release. They would do it together, they'd talk it out, work through it and then move on... it would just take some time.

There was a loud thump followed by cursing. Darien threw off the covers and rushed to the bathroom. "Kitten, is everything all right?"

The door swung open and Alyx stood shakily in the doorway. "Kitten? That's a new one." She set a hand against his chest, her fingers digging into the cloth of his t-shirt. "I like it. That one's a keeper."

Darien scooped her up and knew by her lack of protest that she had exhausted herself already. "Claire's the Keeper, but 'kitten' suits you." He knew the nick must be a remnant of the dream, but found himself liking it for Alyx as much as his other self had for 'Chele.

She rested her forehead on the side of his neck and sighed deeply. "Does this mean I should practice my purr?" she joked as he carried her across the room and set her down in the center of the bed.

"Nah, you do that fine already," he assured her. He felt his heart leap in his chest as she reached for him, encouraging him to lay down with her, then kissed him with all the energy she could muster. He could feel the terror roiling just beneath the surface, knew she wasn't anywhere ready to take it beyond this gentle meeting of bodies and lips. He could also feel her need for him trying to burn its way to the surface, her love for him making her willing to fight the instinctive and irrational fear that was all she had lived with for long weeks and allow him to take advantage of her tentative offer.

"'Chele... crap. Alyx, you don't have to prove anything to me." He brushed her hair away from her face and did his best to project that he meant the words with all his heart and soul, that he could and would wait as long as necessary for_ her_ to be ready.

She shuddered, relief at his statement rolling off her in sharp waves, the pain still not very far from the surface. She curled against him and he wrapped his arms about her, thankful she was still alive and with him. He _knew_ how close he had come to truly losing her.

"Was it better?" she asked suddenly.

"Was what better?" Darien wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

"The dream, was it better having known me all your life?"

Darien thought about it, in the dream they'd been friends for years, lovers on occasion. Been there for the highs and lows of each other's lives, together, but never quite connecting completely. Here, now, she was with him, in his bed and in his arms nearly every night. She was in his life and they were together, friends, partners, lovers, any and all of them. While some things _seemed_ better in that other life, like the curing of the madness, the fact that he was living his life without her, still suffered from the isolation and loneliness forced upon him by the gland and the Agency, was still alone, that was anything but better.

"Not better," he told her. "Just different. I wouldn't trade what we have for anything, Alyx."

"Anything?" she repeated, unconvinced.

"You heard me. You're here, now, and_ that_ is what matters." He could only hope she could feel that he meant every word, that there was little he wouldn't do to keep her in his life, that everything they'd been through had only made him care for her all the more.

"Sweet," she mumbled sleepily. "A ma vie de coer entier."

Darien lay perfectly still, not quite sure he'd heard her correctly and afraid to ask how she'd come to say those words. By the time he screwed up his courage to say her name, he realized she'd fallen asleep. "I love you too, Alyx."

_I don't believe in destiny_

_Or the guiding hand of fate_

_I don't believe in forever_

_Or love as a mystical state_

_I don't believe in the stars or the planets_

_Or angels watching from above_

_But I believe there's a ghost of a chance we can find someone to love_

_And make it last..._

_Ghost of a Chance by Rush._

Finis.


End file.
